


Cut From A Dream

by kore_cob



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cersei & Jaime's sibling dynamic, Dream Sharing, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inception AU, Light Smut, Modern Westeros, No Incest, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, past suicide mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_cob/pseuds/kore_cob
Summary: When she pursued her passion for architecture, Sansa Stark had expected to go the usual route - the internship, the boring and low-paying first job, then the climb towards that coveted partnership in a prestigious firm. She never thought dreams would be a part of it. After all, her own dreams were scarce.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 115





	1. The Architect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by Hozier's Jackie and Wilson. Oh, and the usual disclaimer that I do not own any of these characters etc. This is the Inception AU that no one asked for! 
> 
> [loosely based on Inception (2010)]

The rain began falling in a soft drizzle as Sansa walked back from the deli around the corner. Usually, she had enough time to grab cheaper fresh goods to cook with from the market a few blocks down, but deadlines for her final projects were looming. Two years ago, a master’s degree in architecture seemed like an indulgence, but her scholarship was granted. Arya and Jon had persuaded her to take it as well, as Sansa had taken two years off in college to work in an auction house to support them both. The financial aid that came with the program combined with money she had been able to save from her previous job was enough to help her get by. 

She worked in a small cafe near her place during those two years. It had been an uneventful life in Oldtown. For that, she was grateful.

As she enters her tiny apartment filled with plates and architectural models, she hears thunder crash. The rain had begun to pour in earnest. Lucky for her, she just missed it. She browses through her emails while polishing off her supper of spinach lasagna. One email contained the final edits and comments on her projects from Professor Reed. He gave her work on public housing and urban infrastructure planning high praise, putting her in a good mood for the night. She decides to relax for the rest of the night, do the edits tomorrow, and turn in her final submissions by the end of the week. 

It is about half-past ten when she finishes her movie and her calls to Arya and Jon. They check in on each other periodically. They keep in touch. They have to. They are all they have—the only ones left. Before she showers, Sansa packs and takes out her garbage down to the chute on the floor below. As she walks back up the stairs, movement from below catches her eye. She looks down at the shadow and catches a glimpse of her new neighbor making his way out of the building.

He moved into the room down the hall on her floor about two weeks ago. She has seen his face precisely only once. He was blonde with a sharp jawline, and really quite handsome. She thinks he gave her a small smile as he made his way back to his room that one time while she left hers to get to her 8AM meeting. She has never seen him since. He really did come and go at very odd hours. 

Shaking her head, she makes her way back to her room, takes a shower, and prepares for bed. She has edits to make on the morrow. 

—

“I’m surprised to see you actually working in your office.”

Howland Reed looks up from the plate he was grading. His visitor is leaning against the doorframe.

“You left the door ajar,” he says.

“Come in,” Howland bids him. “Do you want any tea?”

The man shakes his head as he closes the door behind him. He sits in one of the chairs across his desk.

“This place seems smaller than I remember,” he remarks as he looks around the room.

“I keep it for the balcony,” Howland replies lightly. 

There is a short period of silence.

“Why are you here?” Howland sighs while asking. He has an inkling about this visit already.

“Got a job offer,” his former colleague replies.

“No, I am not going back into the field,” he immediately replies. “My days building and creating are over.”

His visitor chuckles.

“Not for you, Professor Reed,” he says with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “I need an architect.” 

“Ah, here to seduce and corrupt a bright mind under my tutelage then?” the professor asks. He sighs deeply, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just for one job, that’s all.”

“It’s never just one job, and we both know it,” Howland answers, giving the man across him a pointed look. 

“It’s one last job for me,” he responds, “and the architect I need would just be designing the levels. No field work.”

“Then do the work yourself. You’re more than capable. I know you are.”

He’s quiet for a while.

“I can't,” he whispers. "She's still—"

Howland snaps.

“Stop it all right now. Whispers over the years have told me that you’ve earned enough. Walk away while you still can. Please.”

“You don't understand,” the visitor says softly, his voice hinting at desperation, “this job could be the one that will clear my name.”

Howland sighs, fiddling with his pen. He knows he is about to give in.

“The client is a powerful one. Heads the largest tech ops in Dorne. One call from him erases my charges.”

At that, Howland raises a brow. 

“I would not have come here if I knew I had other options. I need an architect who can match the work of the best one in Asshai,” he says.

Howland scoffs.

“I’ve got somebody better.”

—

It took the whole morning to finalize her projects. She had to take three trips from her place to the Citadel to transport her precious models to the exhibition room. She was not taking any chances. The panelists and audience for tomorrow’s exhibit and deliberations included well-known CEOs and representatives of architectural firms and designers she admired. She wanted everything to be perfect. 

Professor Reed meets her to go over her presentation once more before telling her to take the rest of the day off. It is going to be a big day for her and her peers tomorrow. Best she shakes the nerves off. 

Sansa instead spends the whole night rehearsing her presentation. Typical.

And everything plays out perfectly. Her projects received accolades from the grading panelists. Many seemed interested in what she had worked on and what she had to offer. She was chatting away with potential employers at the little celebratory event thrown for the graduate students who have just finished a hellish year of project designs. 

“It just felt right,” Sansa says, “working on bettering the infrastructure to give people access to decent homes. Housing is a human right after all.”

Waerysha Bahymion, the representative from the Braavos firm looks at her with a raised brow. Petyr Barlish from the Tyrell Empire smiles, sweet and scathing at the same time. Ila Vynaar from the Asshai group just stares at her explanation on why she chose to work on public housing for her final project. Only Tormund Giantsbane, COO of the Wall Execs nodded enthusiastically, while handing her his card and telling her to email her CV.

Probably thinks I’m being too radical, Sansa mutters in her head.

“We would love to have you on board, Miss Stark,” Elrin Frey, the representative from his own family firm gushes at her. The rest of the reps however see this as an opportunity to escape and start to disperse. 

“The internship sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” Sansa says sweetly. “I’ll have to think about it for the moment.”

Unpaid. Using her for free creative labor. It was a definite no. The Freys were notorious for taking advantage of fresh graduates eager to work to fatten up their resumés. She was certain she could find better jobs at other firms. 

“Networking sucks, doesn’t it?”

She turns to see Howland Reed walking up beside her. She chuckles at his bluntness. He had a glass of coke in his hand and a strawberry smoothie in the other. He hands her the smoothie which she happily sips down.

“They’re always about making more money,” Sansa sighs, “or building the next palace.”

She knows money does matter. She needs it to live. She also loved designing grand buildings, tall skyscrapers, and futuristic structures, pushing the boundaries of what would be possible. It was what cemented her place as one of the best students in the Citadel. But she has always felt driven to do more than just get rich, build pretty things, and live luxuriously. 

“Any interesting offers yet?” Howland asks. 

“One from the Wall group,” she replies, “and it pays pretty well too for a starting position.”

Sansa was seriously thinking about taking it. She can build up her work experience from there.

“If you’re willing to do ah, a bit of freelance work for a while,” he says quietly. “I have a client I’d like you to meet.”

Sansa looks at him with her eyes wide.

“Wh-why me?” she asks, a little shocked.

Howland Reed was one of her most respected professors and her own mentor. He supported her and helped her grow and cultivate her talents. She trusted him. For him to choose her out of all his students? She felt warmth and pride bubbling in her stomach.

“You probably are one of the best students to have finished this program in years. And your heart is in the right place,” he shrugs.

“What sort of freelance work exactly?” she asks.

“Ah, I would have to leave the explanation of things up to my old colleague, I’m afraid,” he tells her, “I’ve been out of their line of work for quite some time now.” 

“Yes,” she answers brightly. “Yes, I’d love to!”

He smiles at her enthusiasm.

“He’ll be here tomorrow at noon. My office,” he says and leaves her at that. 

—

Sansa spends the twenty-minute walk to the Citadel thinking about the nature of work her mentor has recommended her for. She is excited but scared at the same time, insecurities rising up, thoughts whether or not she would be good enough. It was the usual internal turmoil churning inside her as she made her way to Professor Reed’s office.

Steeling herself, she knocks.

“Come in,” his voice calls.

When she enters, she sees only Professor Reed sitting at his desk with a book open. Two cups of tea are on his table. He greets her with a nod.

Maybe his client was still on the way?

“Out you go,” he tells her, motioning to the door at the corner left open. “More privacy there.” 

Sansa takes a deep breath. She drops her bag onto the seat in front of his desk before moving towards the door, crouching to get through it onto his office’s tiny balcony. When she stands and sees the client, she cannot keep the look of surprise off her face.

Her elusive neighbor stands by the rails, looking over the bustling Oldtown streets.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this AU playing around in my head for years. Suddenly got the inspiration to finally write it. I hope it was (at least) an interesting read, and let me know what you think!


	2. The Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PASIV - Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous Device, abbreviated PASIV Device, is a device used for administering the drug Somnacin to dreamers in the field.

His eyes were green. That was the first thing she noticed when he turned to face her. If he recognizes her, he does not show it.

“So you’re the architect then?” He holds out his hand for her to shake. “My name is Jaime. I’m one of Reed's old colleagues.”

Sansa nods, grasping his hand.

“Sansa Stark,” she introduces herself, “just finished the program, actually.”

“We both know he doesn’t make recommendations lightly, fresh grad or not.” 

She warms at his compliment. So he does know Howland Reed well, she gathers.

“So what is this job?” Sansa asks, suddenly very curious.

“Before I can give you any details,” Jaime says as he pulls out a small notepad and pen from his messenger bag sitting on the floor, “I need to know whether or not you can actually do it.” 

“Why?”

“It’s not exactly...within the boundaries of legality.” 

Sansa’s gaze snaps to meet his, wondering what really was her mentor’s old line of work because it did not sound like the standard consultant position he told her about.

“You up for it?” He gives her some space. “You can say no if you aren’t comfortable—” 

“No, no, I mean yeah,” she manages to say, shaking her head. “Yeah, I‘ll give it a shot.” 

He hands her the pad and pen.

“I’ll give you three minutes to come up with a maze that can be solved in at least half that time.”

Her first few tries are dreadful failures. He finishes each one in less than half a minute. 

“You’re not trying hard enough. Again,” he orders, ripping out her last failed attempt.

Something in his tone fuels her. She grabs the pad from him and flips it over to the unlined page. He watches her draw a labyrinth in a circle.

“Time’s up.”

When he tries to solve it, it takes a while this time. He smiles.

“Now I know why Reed chose you,” he remarks as he finds the path through her maze.

“So what’s the job?” 

—

Crafting layouts for  _ dreams _ . She could not get over how ridiculous the job description was. It all sounded too whimsical to be illegal. But this was a job Professor Reed recommended her for. And Jaime said she would understand it all more when he showed her. 

Besides, he showed her the initial deposit that she would be getting once she signed on. The number had six figures on it. He said the rest would be paid in full after they complete the job.

So Sansa agrees to meet him and another team member at a studio nearby. Her semester was at an end anyway, and her final requirements had been turned in. She had nothing better to do while waiting for graduation.

It was a job that was going to be done in a dream. A dream. How difficult could it be?

—

“How do you go about, say, coming up with a house for a class assignment?”

Sansa glances at him as she throws down more pieces of stale bread to the family of ducks that had gathered in front of them. Fishes were swimming around, hoping to catch a share of the crumbs.

They are standing on a small pier overlooking a lake. People around them seem to be enjoying the sun. Some are jogging, others are on a picnic, tourists are shopping or dining in shops, and there is an elderly couple reading under the shade. 

“I suppose I try to nail down every aspect of it, from the foundation to the design,” she answers.

“Right, but do you ever have moments where you just let go? Let your imagination run free—”

“And- and it feels like I’m discovering something.”

Jaime smiles and nods at her answer. 

“In reality, you get tired. You need to take a break. But in a dream, your brain is constantly creating and sensing the world around you all at once,” Jaime explains, “and you don’t even notice it.”

Sansa absorbs what he says quietly.

“Think of it like those two fish,” he says, pointing at the two koi swimming nearby, “constantly swimming behind each other in a circle, never touching, and us being able to cut through the circle whenever we want to.”

Sansa cocks her head. 

“Like a shortcut of sorts?” She is slowly starting to grasp the concepts.

“Exactly.”

“And how do we do that?”

“By doing the creating.”

They start walking back to the row of shops and cafes lining the lakeside. 

“This is where the architect comes in. The worlds in dreams are yours to build. Then whichever subject we take into it populates it with their subconscious.”

“But won’t they know or eventually figure out that they are dreaming?” Sansa asks.

Jaime nods. “They might. But we don’t want them to realize that. That’s why creating the layout of the dream is crucial.”

“They have to believe they’re in the real world,” she muses, “but how can I ever come up with something so detailed and so convincing? The cars, the roads, every tree and shrub, shops and statues, concrete and bricks, there’s fabric to consider too and all the lights and—”

“You’re overthinking it,” Jaime interrupts her. “Dreams - they feel real don’t they?”

“Yes, but - I don’t think the human mind can create all,” she gestures around them, “this with -”

“And in dreams,” he continues, ignoring her concerns, “somehow, we never remember how it all began, don’t we? It’s like we were just dropped in the middle of it.”

“Y-yes, but—”

“How did we end up here?”

“Oh, we came from—” Sansa starts, trying to remember.

“Where are we? Where did we come from?”

Sansa looks around them more closely. Suddenly, the earth starts trembling faintly around them. She thinks she hears music in the wind. She cannot remember, and it clicks.

“We’re in a dream,” she whispers in shock.

“Don’t panic,” Jaime advises her as the trembling around them gets stronger. “This is your first shared dream lesson. We’re asleep in the studio, remember?”

Sansa grabs onto a lamp post nearby to steady herself, her mind as shaky as the world around them. Beside her, Jaime braces himself.

The ground cracks around them, and the lake is churning. Buildings on the street they are on begin imploding. Glass, concrete, furniture parts, even people, are thrown into the air. 

Jaime ducks, crouching to protect himself.

“What is happening, why are you—,” Sansa shouts.

A great blast from behind throws her into the air, and she jerks back into consciousness. Sansa takes a deep breath before looking around the studio slowly and sitting up She sees Jaime already up on the lawn chair beside her. Rhaenys Targaryen is checking on the PASIV set up near them.

“Jagged debris still hurts as much as it does in reality, didn’t it?” Jaime is watching her as her eyes dart around the room. 

“It’s why my great grandparents funded the dream sharing tech—so they could come up with a training program for the Sunspear Militia where everyone could fight to the death and just wake up,” Rhaenys tells her with a small smile. “They needed architects to design the dreams.”

Sansa just stares at them, still processing all the new information. 

“You up for another five minutes?” Rhaenys asks.

“No, that can’t be,” Sansa replies, confused, “we were walking around for more than half an hour, how—”

“Time seems to slow down in dreams because our minds work much faster,” she answers. “Five minutes in reality is an hour in dreams.”

“Want to give it a try? See what you can accomplish in five minutes?” Jaime asks.

Sansa nods slowly and reclines. She hears a button pushed and is plunged once again into a dream.

They are walking around a marketplace. Jaime looks around, taking in her creations. 

“Very good.” He is looking all around them. “You got everything down to the finer details.”

“It’s so palpable,” Sansa says, her hand running over the grainy texture of the bricks decorating the establishments. “All so physical, and I think more so about how everything  _ feels  _ . I could rebuild Winterfell here.”

“No,” Jaime immediately responds. “Never places from memory. Borrow a few details, but never the whole thing.”

“Why not, it’s only for a dream—”

“Building dreams drawn straight from memory is the easiest way to lose your sense of reality. The risk is too high, the drop too steep. Soon enough, you’ll go crazy trying to tell dreams from the true world you live in.”

Sansa takes a mental note. 

“But what if I start bending a few rules?”

She takes a deep breath and concentrates on the marketplace. The street running down the west end starts to fold in half, the stalls and the people going about normally as if nothing was happening. The same happens to the east end filled with hotels and offices and the south end which held the cultural center of the city. Over on the north, the bay folds over them, the sea taking the place of the sky. The endpoint of each plane meets at the peak. 

She has reshaped the landscape and trapped them in a pyramid.

Sansa sighs in awe. Jaime nods approvingly. They move on, stepping over the edge and onto the next plane. They make their way to the beach.

Sansa observes the people around them curiously. 

“Where did all the people come from?” she asks. “Who are they?”

“Projection of my subconscious,” Jaime says. “Since  _ you  _ are the dreamer and I, the subject.”

“So it’s your subconscious that fills the world that I created?”

“Yes. The subconscious is one of the methods we can use to access the subject’s thoughts since they are what the subject's mind projects into the dream.”

“Why are they staring at me?” Sansa mutters, unnerved. "Can't you tell them to stop?"

He shakes his head.

“The subconscious can't be controlled. They stare because they sense a foreign presence which is you, the dreamer. Kind of like the immune system detecting a virus.”

“Well, it’s creeping me out,” Sansa says. “Are they going to come after us?”

Jaime snorts. They keep walking on.

“What else can you do to get to their guarded secrets or whatever it is you’re looking for? Are there other ways?” 

“The architecture,” Jaime tilts his head pointedly at her, “you build a secure place, could be a small safe or something as guarded as an Iron Bank vault, and the subject will project into it whatever they want to protect or keep safe and hidden.”

“And I’m guessing your job is to steal it?”

Jaime nods happily. 

They approach a river, and Sansa puts her focus into the wood of the pier. A barrier sprouts and the pier starts to elongate, allowing them to make their way across.

“Very impressive.” He walks beside her as the bridge elongates ahead. “You’re picking things up very quickly, but slow down. The more you change things, the more you make your presence known. No one likes to feel a stranger messing with their heads, and their subconscious -”

“It’s incredible,” Sansa says, not at all listening to him, “all the possibilities—” 

Someone bumps into her.

“Hey, watch it!” she calls out. 

Another grabs her arm. Jaime manages to pry the older man off, but a crowd has already surrounded them. More people are grabbing at Sansa, and Jaime is struggling to fight them off the both of them. 

That's when he sees her walking through the crowd towards them, a knife in hand.

“Wake me up!” Sansa cries, struggling in the hold of the crowd, “Jaime, wake me up!”

“No!” Jaime yells, “Cersei, don’t!”

Jaime breaks free for a moment and rushes to shield Sansa, but she reaches him first and slashes the knife at his throat, slitting his carotid artery. Sansa screams.

He wakes with a start in their studio and rips out his line, making his way towards the architect.

Sansa gasps awake, her hands clutching her throat. She frantically tries to get up, but her head feels light. Jaime slowly guides her to sit back.

“Calm down,” she hears Rhaenys say in the background, “Sansa, breathe. You’re alright.”

“Why,” she gasps, trying for deeper breaths, “I couldn’t - I wouldn’t wake, why—”

“There was still some time on the clock,” Jaime says to her as he takes out her line, “and the only other way for us to wake up from a dream is to die.”

“She’ll be needing her own totem,” Rhaenys tells him as she starts packing up the PASIV. He nods. 

“Totem?” Sansa asks, mind still reeling. 

“Your personal anchor to reality,” Jaime explains, digging into his pocket to show her his. “Something small that you can have on you at all times.”

“What, like a necklace?”

“Risky and a hassle,” he says, “you need something that weighs or moves in a specific manner that only  _ you  _ know of.”

“What do you use?”

He holds out a small golden medallion with a rearing lion engraved on its face. Sansa reaches for it to take a closer look, but he immediately pulls it out of her grasp. 

“Letting you touch it would defeat its purpose,” Jaime explains, “because only I know its weight and balance in reality.”

“What for?” Sansa asks.

“See, when I hold onto this, inspect it,  _ feel  _ it, I’d know with a hundred percent certainty, that I’m not in anyone’s dream.”

“You’ll have to make one yourself,” Rhaenys says.

“Wait, who in seven hells was she?” Sansa asks suddenly, glaring at Jaime, “your subconscious was vicious!”

“Ah, I see you’ve met his sister,” Rhaenys chuckles.

“Sister?” Sansa asks in a shrill voice.

“Twin actually,” Jaime replies softly, “older than me by thirty-two seconds.”

“I - I’m not,” Sansa stutters, struggling to find words. She takes a deep breath. 

“I don’t know how much trauma and issues you’ve got repressed or buried, but I am  _ not  _ about to share dreams—share  _ my  _ mind—with someone like you! If you can't control your subconscious, I’m out.”

With a huff, she stands, grabs her coat and bag, and walks out of the studio. 

Rhaenys looks unconcerned.

“Well, ” she asks, lifting a brow, “how was she?”

“Incredible,” Jaime says honestly. “I’d say she’s even better than Melissandre. I’ve never seen anyone learn the ropes as quickly as she did.” 

“Then she’ll be back,” Rhaenys says. “She won’t be satisfied with reality now.”

“Have her learn to build mazes when she comes back,” Jaime says as he shrugs on his jacket. 

“Where will you be?” Rhaenys moves to sit at her desk. “Doran’s flying in early next month.”

“Working as a PA in Petyr Baelish's team for a couple of weeks,” Jaime sighs. “The Tyrells are launching their new solar agritech, and it's a lot of preparation leading up to the week-long celebration. I fly out tonight.”

“Isn’t he Olenna’s right hand?”

“And the one I need to forge,” Jaime nods. “We got intel that he’s planning on putting his name on the Tyrell Empire once Olenna passes. I’ll be back by the time Doran gets here.”

She picks up the folder she had been reading through—the file on Petyr Baelish. 

“What did you say her last name was again?” Rhaenys asks him, suddenly remembering a detail she had read on one of the business mergers Baelish had won. Where he put a hit on a family, so their shares on the wind power tech would fall into his - well - the Tyrell’s hands.

“Who?”

“The architect.”

“Stark.”

Rhaenys flips to the section she was looking for. The hit Baelish had put out was on Stark Winds Corp. 

“Is she-,” Rhaenys gasps.

“Yes,” Jaime confirms, his voice grave. 

“Does she know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do we tell her?”

“I don’t know.” Jaime runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to drop a bomb when she’s going to be working around the clock.”

Rhaenys sighs in understanding.

“One job at a time,” she says. “Best hope we get through the heiress.”

She puts down Baelish’s file. 

“Having this conniving bastard in control of a monopoly sounds like a nightmare.”

  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the all responses and support! By the way, I changed my username (childof_hades --> kore_cob, the old one is still under my pseuds). I can't promise weekly updates because online classes start soon. However, I will do my best to not leave this hanging. We've picked up the pace a little and laid a bit of background down for those who haven't seen the movie (which coincidentally turns 10 years old this year!). I hope you liked the chapter, and I'd love to hear thoughts and reactions. Even keyboard smashes are appreciated. Stay safe, everyone!


	3. The Truth

“ _Fuck_.”

Sansa is once again pacing her room in the middle of the night. It has been three days since she walked out on Jaime and Rhaenys. Neither has tried to visit her nor reach out to her. She knows Jaime has moved out. She met her new neighbor yesterday —an elderly woman living with her three cats who gave her a jar of delicious oatmeal raisin cookies. She doesn’t even know if the job offer still stands. She does not want to go to Professor Reed to ask for help. He might think she was acting like a child. 

No, she can handle this herself. 

But _fuck_ , she remembers the searing heat followed by the freezing bite of steel. It was just as he said. Pain was very real in a dream.

“ _The money, think about the money,_ ” her sensible conscience tells her. True, it would help her and her family so much. She could pay off Arya’s shop’s loan, clear her _and_ her sister's student debts, and repair Jon’s training gym showers. Even pay for many upgrades. 

And she would still have enough left over to cushion her during her job-hunting days. That was from the initial deposit alone. If she got the full payment, she thinks she could actually buy a house. 

But Sansa knew otherwise. She knew her real reason for wanting to go back in and take the job. Her usual sketching these past few days had not been enough to scratch the itch. She needed more.

It takes her two more days to gather enough courage and visit the studio again, hoping to catch Jaime or Rhaenys and ask about where she stood. If they were still there. She had no other option. They did not exactly leave a number she could call. These people knew how to stay hidden and move in the shadows.

When she gets to the studio, she knocks. No answer. She tries the door knob. It was open. She enters slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible and finds Rhaenys sitting by a desk, typing up something. Rhaenys looks back at her and smirks. 

“H-hi,” Sansa manages to squeak in greeting.

“Ready for the next lesson then?” Rhaenys is already standing up and walking to the shelf where the PASIV was kept. 

“I—yeah,” Sansa replies. “Job offer still open?”

“Of course. I take it this is you saying yes?”

Sansa nods vigorously, dropping her bag next to the lawn chair. 

“Were you expecting me to say no?” she wonders out loud. “I thought you guys might already have disappeared to be honest. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“We knew you’d be back,” Rhaenys says. “With your talent? You wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“It was just,” Sansa sighs, “absolute boundless creation.”

Rhaenys smiles.

“Time for you to learn about mazes.”

—

Sansa likes Rhaenys. The woman was only a year older than she was but had been in the business since she was sixteen. Her skills in extraction were well-known by many in their field. She was intelligent, clever, and worked fluidly, always ready to adjust to any situation. She was also trained in three types of combat fighting. On top of that, she had a girlfriend named Serila back in Dorne. They have been together for two years.

Sansa cannot help the comparisons that pop into her head as she learns more about Rhaenys Targaryen. Her last relationship had been a pathetic one. Harry Hardying was as boring as they go - the typical boy who only wanted her to be the pretty accessory on his arm. She let it go on for a year before finally being pulled to her senses by Arya. The breakup was dramatic because Harry had made a spectacle and put the blame on her. At that point, all she cared about was breaking free of him so she could start grad school in peace.

The dating scene had been dismal since then. At least her stay at the Citadel had been a peaceful and fruitful one. 

Rhaenys teaches her the basics of creating a maze through a layout. She learns about paradoxes, how to set traps, where to lay down escape routes, and more. Sansa is given a key to the studio and the freedom to use the PASIV whenever she wants to practice her building in dreams and discover how far she can stretch her imagination. She makes her totem during her downtime—a rook with a wolf’s head carved on top.

The team is coming in next week. She takes every opportunity to learn and hone her new skills. 

She asks Rhaenys about Cersei one night when they have dinner at the studio, too curious to let it pass since Jaime would be back by the end of the week. 

“Your subconscious is pretty peaceful.” Sansa pops a bite of orange chicken into her mouth. “I just don’t understand how he can let her slip in like that?”

“Jaime’s got some deep-seated issues,” Rhaenys says as she spears a broccoli with her fork, “that’s a well-known fact in our circles.”

“But doesn’t it mess up jobs?” Sansa asks, “it can’t be easy when he suddenly brings her into the scene, and she fucks everything up.”

“It may,” she concedes, “but I’ve worked with Jaime for years. He’s never hidden that fact from his team, so we come in prepared.”

“Where is his vicious sister anyway?” Sansa scoffs.

Rhaenys is quiet for a second.

“She’s dead.”

Sansa’s jaw goes slack. Her hand unconsciously flies to her neck, feeling the knife that slit it in a dream.

“Wh-what, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It’s alright,” Rhaenys assures her, “Jaime doesn’t like talking about it.”

“What happened?” Sansa asks, then suddenly shakes her head, catching herself. “Sorry, sorry, it isn’t my place. I just...”

The Targaryen girl purses her lips.

“No, you’re part of the team now,” she says, “and you have the right to know what happened at the very least.”

Rhaenys pauses, and Sansa waits with bated breath.

“She lost her grasp on reality. Was so certain death was the only out. She begged Jaime to come with her.”

Sansa’s heartbeat grows louder in her ears. 

“It happened about three years ago. Cersei told him to meet her in the Capital. Told him that she got a job offer that would change their lives. She said the client asked to meet them in one of the secluded high towers of Red Keep. When he got to the place, she was perched on the ledge, waiting for him. He begged her not to. Tried to talk her down. But when he tried to make a grab for her to pull her in, she let herself fall.”

Rhaenys bows her head for a moment.

“And Jaime was blamed for her death. The rumor was that he killed her so he could take full control of their work and money.”

Sansa’s eyes grow wide.

“B-but she—”

Rhaenys nods sadly.

“Now he is a wanted man in the Capital and in the Westerlands. His own homeland. Tywin Lannister’s doing to keep the alliances he built with my family. His father has disowned him as well,” she tells the Stark girl. “Honestly, I don’t think he cares so much about not being able to go home as opposed to the false accusation hanging over his head.”

“How did you know all this?” Sansa asks her. 

“We went to celebrate pulling off a difficult job one night, and he got drunk.”

Sansa is at a loss of what to say.

“Lannister wasn’t always this big of a hot mess,” Rhaenys says, “when I got into the business, he was one of the first friends I made. And one of the best teachers.”

Sansa cannot imagine Jaime in the role of a mentor. He had way too many issues. 

“The other was his sister.”

“What?”

“Cersei was an amazing architect and a formidable woman,” Rhaenys continues. “Her brother was one of the best forgers in the field. They were partners, and they were one hell of a team.”

“Where did it all go wrong?”

Rhaenys sighs deeply.

“That,” she says in a clipped voice, “can all be attributed to my grandfather.”

“Aerys?” Sansa gasps. 

His spiral into madness was a great scandal and dealt quite a blow to Targaryen Industries. Once a glorious and revered entrepreneur, now dubbed the Mad Targaryen, Aerys’ meltdown and arrest were streamed to the public by every news station. His son, Rhaegar, had a lot of damage control and cleaning up to do after his father executed his grand plan of trying to blow up the Red Keep. 

“Did - did he do - something to Cersei for her to—to you know—?”

“Yes. It was him who asked Cersei to come and bring her brother with her. He knew what he had done, and he wanted to see it all unfold. He found Jaime in the tower the next morning, still in shock, and told him everything. He was always the kind of man who wanted people to know of his personal achievements.” 

Rhaenys takes a sip of tea. “Lucky for Grandfather that Jaime was still beside himself in grief. He would probably have been killed otherwise.”

“Did he go after Aerys?” Sansa asks.

“He couldn’t. Aerys was careful to stay only in the Capital or the West.” Rhaenys picks at the last of her food. “Grandfather was always heavily guarded. Jaime had no allies. Not after the rumor had spread like wildfire to almost everyone in the business. His skills and experience meant that he still had job offers here and there, but he hardly had any friends.”

“How were you able to believe him?” Sansa asks. “Aerys is your family.”

“And he went mad. I paid him a visit at Dragonstone where they confined him. It didn’t take much for him to start gloating about it. He all but confirmed what Jaime told me.”

Sansa stares at her empty food container.

“Keep this to yourself, will you?” the extractor asks her, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m turning in for the night. Be here tomorrow morning by nine o’clock. The client and the rest of the team will be here for the briefing.”

Sansa nods and bids her goodnight. She has one night to process everything she has learned and practice how to act normally in front of the forger tomorrow.

—

She gets to the studio an hour and a half early and is the first one there. A little overkill, but Sansa has always been the type to get to a meeting place hours early and just wait around. She sits back on one of the lawn chairs and brings out the novel she had been reading. It is half-past seven, and she has not eaten out of nervousness. She also has not taken any coffee for fear that she might get palpitations which would only worsen her anxiety. 

Naturally, she starts dozing off a page into her book. 

She jolts awake and yelps when a paper bag is dropped onto her lap. Looking up, she sees the forger smirking.

“Good morning to you too,” Sansa grumbles, as she sits up and puts her book aside. She lifts the bag and sniffs.

“It’s breakfast.” Jaime pulls out a steaming cup of coffee from the tray on the desk. “Cream and sugar?”

Sansa squints at him. 

“Two creams, no sugar, please and thank you,” she replies politely. The almond croissant is still warm, and she chirps happily as she munches on the sweet pastry.

“How did learning the mazes go?” He stirs her coffee and walks towards her with her much-needed caffeine. 

“Fine,” Sansa says as she takes the cup from him. “Rhaenys can teach really well. And I get to create, so that’s a plus.”

She is surprised at how well she is doing. Acting normally was easier than she thought it would be.

“What time is it?” Sansa asks, still a little disoriented from her nap. 

“Half-past eight,” he says as the door to the studio door opens, revealing a stern balding man who looked like he was of age with Professor Reed. Behind him was a younger stout man who looked too happy for someone working in an illegal business.

“Jaime!” the younger man cries, as he walks towards the Lannister to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder, “it’s good to see you again!”

“And you, Sam,” Jaime chuckles. “How did it go in Braavos?”

“Excellent,” Sam preens. “Finally got the perfect formulation down. Scored a side job too.”

“Where is Rhaenys?” the older man interrupts. “It’s almost nine.”

“Oh, stop being a worry-wart, Stannis,” Sam replies, unpacking the briefcase he had brought with him. “Have a little faith. Rhaenys is never one to be late.”

Sansa quietly observes the newcomers from her seat as she drinks down her warm latte. Before she can ask Jaime who they were exactly, Rhaenys walks in, a man tailing behind her.

“Everyone, meet the client,” Rhaenys says, “this is my uncle, Doran Martell.”

“Very strange for relatives to be hiring one of their own for a job that is supposed to be a demanding one, isn’t it?” Stannis is immediately suspicious.

“Patience, Stannis,” Rhaenys sighs. “Introductions first, I think.” 

Sansa suddenly feels the eyes of everyone in the room on her. She freezes.

“This is Sansa,” Rhaenys announces, gesturing in her direction, “our architect. She’s new to the job. And the business. Try not to corrupt her as much.”

Doran gives her a small smile. Sam waves at her enthusiastically. Stannis just gives her a hard stare. 

Sansa manages a weak smile and a meek wave. 

“In this business, each member of the team assembled has a specific role. You’ve already met me, the extractor, and Jaime, the forger. This is Sam,” she says, hand stretched in the stout man’s direction, “the chemist.”

“Nice to meet you, Sansa,” Sam says jovially, “and welcome to the team!”

Sansa smiles warmly, already comfortable with him and grateful that there was someone else she could easily befriend. 

“And this is Stannis, the pointman.”

Stannis gives her one nod before turning his attention back to their client.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, Uncle Doran will be doing the briefing.”

With that, they all sit around a semicircle. Doran clears his throat and gets straight to the point.

“Inception.”

And Stannis goes ballistic.


	4. The Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somnacin is the name of the drug used to initiate dream sharing and lucid dreaming, and it is delivered by the PASIV.

“Stannis, you’re overreacting!” Rhaenys finally shouts after his five-minute tirade, “you haven’t even heard the rest of it yet!”

“It’s not possible!” he yells back. “You’re going to get us all killed!”

“How do you know it isn’t possible,” Sam asks. “Have you even tried it?”

“How about an example,” Stannis grinds out. “I’m going to ask you to stop thinking about coffee. To drop it out from your mind and forget about it.”

Sam just looks at him with a blank expression. 

“Now what’s running through your mind?” Stannis asks in an over-confident tone.

“Coffee,” Sam states. “Actually, I think I want one now.”

He makes his way to the desk where Jaime left the tray and makes one for himself.

“You see?” Stannis crows, “it _cannot_ be done! The human mind will always be able to root out something a foreign entity planted. We cannot forge authentic ingenuity; it’s impossible!”

Rhaenys rolls her eyes at his little demonstration. Doran is trying not to laugh.

“Actually, it can be done,” Jaime informs the pointman, “it’s just exceptionally difficult to get right.”

“Of course you would say that,” Stanns retorts, “you being—”

“That’s enough, Stannis,” Rhaenys admonishes him with a glare, “let Uncle Doran get on with the briefing.”

Stannis sulks as he drops back into his seat. Her uncle nods in thanks and clears his throat.

“The mark is Margaery Tyrell,” he begins, “sole heiress to the Tyrell empire. She has been groomed by her grandmother to take over since she graduated from business school. That year was also when her mother, Alerie Hightower, died from a brain tumor.” 

He holds up a picture of the subject. 

“Currently, the Tyrell conglomerate is run by their matriarch, Olenna Tyrell, and her right hand, Petyr Baelish, who is also godfather to Margaery.”

Rhaenys passes out identical folders to each team member—the file on Margaery Tyrell. 

“Alerie and her daughter were very close, and she was the one saving grace that prevented Olenna and Baelish from fully sinking their claws into the girl. Her death destroyed Margaery, but we know Olenna took advantage of that and cemented herself as Margery’s mentor. Training and learning all about their businesses was a distraction, and one that she gladly took.”

Another picture was held up—Olenna Tyrell was staring at them with a stern expression.

“With Alerie gone, there was no one on their executive board to put Olenna and Baelish in check. Now those two have their sights set on the Martell Tech Ops, and they want to buy us out and merge us into their empire.”

Sansa listens with due diligence, trying to take note of important details mentally.

“Olenna has been working to sway half the members of the board, and Baelish has paid off enough regulators. Soon enough, they’ll have enough votes or acquire enough of the shares to push for the merger. And with that happening, they will have a monopoly on both energy and tech industries all over the world.”

Stannis looks angry while Sam looks a little alarmed.

“That will give them immense power over governing bodies and policy makers. Olenna is still working her deathbed as we speak, while Baelish is her man on the ground. When she dies, Margaery will be named CEO.”

Rhaenys is pulling up files on her notebook.

“This is where you come in,” Doran says, getting to the gist of the job, “my company can only hold out until the end of this year. Four months. I need you to shift the Tyrell heiress’ plans and make her break up their empire. Without Olenna at the helm, Margaery will be reduced to Baelish’s puppet. We cannot have a man like him holding this much power. It will only bring much chaos and destruction.”

“We need to plant the idea in her head,” Rhaenys adds, “the idea that will convince her to dismantle the Tyrell conglomerate before Baelish seizes control.”

“How in seven hells are we supposed to do that?” Stannis looks at all of them incredulously. “It’s too extreme, and it goes against everything she has been taught. Not to mention it will change the course of her life. No matter how deep we plant it, it will never take hold”

“No, no depth isn’t enough.” Jaime answers, “it has to do with the idea itself.”

“Oh please,” Stannis starts, but Doran holds up a hand to stop him.

“You don’t introduce something that radical at once,” Jaime continues, “you have to strip it down to its most fundamental essence. Let the seed grow organically. It isn’t like digging a hole and just sticking a fully grown tree into the ground, roots and all.”

Sansa listens attentively, beginning to understand his point.

“And what would that be,” Stanns asks, “since you’ve proven to be such an expert here.”

“See, the idea Doran proposed already has many economic and political incentives, even has the opposition on monopolies and authoritarian power,” Jaime says as he skims through Margaery’s file, “but these things are all pretty much under the subject’s bias.”

Rhaenys cocks her head, understanding dawning on her. 

“So we need to go back - back to her past,” she muses. 

“And that is?” Stannis is beginning to get impatient with all the explanations.

“Alerie Hightower.”

“Why her?” Sam asks, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “Shouldn’t we reconcile her with her grandmother or something?”

“She was the only one who put Margaery first. Olenna may care, but the Tyrell empire will always be her first priority. The heiress might have never truly dealt with her mother’s death. Opening the dam of repressed grief might just clear her head and give her a new perspective. Make her see what we see,” Jaime finishes quietly.

Stannis still looks unconvinced, but at least he is quiet. The rest of the team look contemplative.

“Right then!” Rhaenys commands all of their attention with a single clap of her hands. “We’ve got work to do.”

— 

“A dream within a dream within a dream. Three layers?”

“The idea we need to plant is one that Maegaery Tyrell would never consciously accept, much less think about,” says Rhaenys as she sticks more notes onto their board of plans. 

“Is that even possible?” Stannis looks up from his screen.

“Of course, it is!” 

Stannis turns his head to see Sam setting up his small laboratory workspace. 

“As we have learned over the years, emotion rules the subconscious,” Rhaenys goes on, ignoring Stannis and his paranoia, “so the idea has to be planted as an emotional concept.”

“The idea involves dismantling her family business,” Stannis counters, as he types away on his notebook, “how do you suppose we turn that into an emotionally appealing concept?”

“That’s what we have to get right,” Doran answers, “Margaery’s file has information on her relationship with both her grandmother and her godfather. Rumor is things are tense. Strained. especially when she’s been putting off the marriage they want for her to cement another merger they’re after.”

Stannis makes a choking noise. 

“Can’t blame the girl,” he says, “Robert is a nightmare. And she has a girlfriend she’s been in a very clandestine relationship with for three years.”

Sansa is confused for a moment. 

“How do you know that?” Sansa goes through the personal relationships section in the file to see if she missed something. “That wasn’t in here.”

“It’s my job as the pointman to fill in the gaps and make sure to cover anything clients might have missed.” 

“If they acquire the Baratheon Construction Group,” Rhaenys says, “skirting around your family to work on your other day job will be infinitely harder for you, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” he says, waving her off, “but they won’t. Renly and I have secured our assets. We’re safe for at least two more years.”

“Do we play on that then?” Doran suggests, “plant the idea that she could do this to spite Olenna and Baelish?”

“No.”

Jaime stands up and makes his way over to the board.

“Human beings were made to want human connections—we long for friendship and love and affirmation. Positive emotions will always prevail over negative ones." He looks over Rhaenys’ notes. "Much like nurture.”

“So we need her to see this in a good light.” 

“I do not need to fulfill grandmother’s every command. My mother would have wanted me to be better than her. And to be happy,” Sansa offers. 

“We can start there.” Jaime nods approvingly. “That could work.”

“We need something that would _definitely_ work.” Stannis is stern and still doubtful. “Give us something more precise, more certain than that.”

“Inception isn’t about solid precision.” Jaime writes Sansa’s statement down and pins a new note. “These things never go exactly as planned, and we’ll have to work with whatever we encounter in her head.”

“Well we’re going to have to do more preparing,” Stannis says, “I just found out that our mark has been trained against extraction.”

Rhaenys looks up and takes a long-suffering breath. “We’ve dealt with a militarized subconscious before, Stannis. We can get past this.”

“Right now, we need to figure out how we’re going to plant this idea,” Doran says. 

“Could we slowly plant it?” Sam is swirling a flask filled with amber liquid. “Not the whole idea at once.”

“Break it down,” Jaime agrees. “One emotional trigger to open up repressed grief or doubts for each layer.” He grabs more post-its. 

“For the topmost level,” Rhaenys says, “we could open the can of worms that is her relationship with Olenna and Baelish?”

Jaime nods. 

“I will not follow in the greed and cold-blooded ambition of my grandmother and godfather,” Sansa says as she tries to break down the idea she proposed.

She sees him writing down what she just said. He posts it on their board.

“For the second level, maybe something along the lines of ‘I am better than them. I can create my own legacy’ would work,” Rhaenys suggests.

“And then we bring out the big guns for the last one,” Jaime says as he scribbles down their plans.

“My mother would have wanted me to do this.”

— 

The dreamers of each layer had been decided.

Sam would take the top level. Although he wasn’t the best fighter, he still had experience in evading attackers. And he liked trains. Sansa was only too happy to design him his own railroad maze. Car chases were a little more dangerous to him. Trains were built stronger. He would be able to set up surveillance and add weapon features to the train car. 

Stannis would take the middle level. He was smart, alert, and exact in his work. And he could adjust quickly if Sam needed to give the signal early. Stern as he was, Sansa found it surprisingly simple to work with him. He gave orders of what kind of mazes and traps he wanted and what setting he needed. Everything was clear-cut. 

Rhaenys would take the bottom level. She was the best fighter in the group. They would need her skills in getting through Margaery at the deepest level. Sansa has forged a bond with her over the last couple of weeks. Working with her was easy. 

Doran announced he would be coming with them. The job was too important to him, and he needed to watch their progress and their work closely.

— 

When Sansa walks into the studio the next morning, she spots the forger doing - well, doing _something_. Jaime looked like he was grooming, taking notes, and giving orders at the same time as he sat in front of the mirror set-up.

“What are you doing?” Sansa walks to her desk carrying a tray of coffee with her extra mixed berries smoothie in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other. She had models to build and plates to finish.

“Mannerisms,” he answers in a tone much too unpleasant and crafty to be his. “Unique to every person and quite difficult to copy.”

“Creepy.”

He laughs shortly and gets up, headed for the bag of food.

“Petyr Baelish.” He picks the chocolate croissant from the bag and takes a bite. “That’s who I was studying in the last few weeks.”

“What exactly does a forger do?” 

“I’ll be impersonating him in the top level. I’ll be a familiar face and ally that Margaery can turn to which means I can tap into her emotional triggers and suggest the concepts we mapped out for the level.”

He starts preparing their drinks. Sansa notices that he takes his coffee black.

“And when we go down to the second level, her subconscious will do the work for me and throw them right back at her.”

“It will come off as if she developed the idea herself,” Sansa mutters. She is impressed.

“That way,” he says, handing her a cup of steaming coffee, “it sticks.”

— 

“How are we going to keep the dreams stable?” Stannis brings up another concern as he reads through Olenna Tyrell’s file. “Three layers would likely crumble from very little turbulence alone.”

Sam clears his throat. “That would require a powerful sedative.”

He retrieves a small vial from his workstation.

“I’ve been tweaking and experimenting with somnacin in Volantis,” Sam says. “This derivative functions extremely well and even gives a much clearer connection. It accelerates brain function too, and buys us more time in a dream.”

“A sedative that powerful might be too much,” Stannis counters. “If we die too early on, we’d drop into limbo.”

“Limbo?” Sansa asks.

“Unconstructed dream space,” Rhaenys answers. “You would be surrounded by infinite subconscious and whatever the last person who has been there left behind.”

“With this sedation, you’ll have to wait until the effects start subsiding before you can even muster the thought of escaping,” Sam says. “We’ll just have to be very careful not to die!”

“But how do you wake up from something like that?” 

“With a kick.”

At that, Doran hooks his foot around the back leg of Stannis’ chair and tips it. Stannis jerks forward, chair slamming back down onto the ground. He glares.

“That feeling of falling that just shocks you awake,” Jaime says, chuckling. “Once we finish the job, we use that to wake ourselves up.”

“Will it still work with that sedation?” Stannis asks. 

“Of course!” Sam says proudly. “I’ve got all the bases covered with this one. As powerful as it is, it does not affect inner ear function at all. Your sense of balance and orientation remains intact. You’ll _feel_ the kick, don’t worry.”

“Through one layer. We’ll be three layers in, remember?”

“And we’ll synchronize them,” Rhaenys says. “Cue them with the usual music then ride them out. That way, we’re able to get through all three layers.”

— 

They are standing outside the doors of a glass skyscraper. Sansa is walking through the small pond near the entrance, showing Jaime around.

“How are we going to find the right moment with enough time to put Margaery under?” Doran asks as he inspects his surroundings. The first layer of the dream was quite the metropolis.

Sam is looking in the distance, observing the train running past them. He is delighted with the work coming along in his dream level. “We’re going to need at least a good twelve hours to be safe.” 

“Flights. Volantis to Lannisport is thirteen hours,” Stanns says.

Rhaenys steps onto the sidewalk where Doran, Sam, and Stannis stand. Sansa and Jaime walk over. 

“She visits every now and then. Her girlfriend works there.”

“How long does Olenna have?” Jaime asks. 

“She’s a stubborn one,” Stannis says as he adjusts his coat. “They were able to acquire that new experimental drug for her which seems to be working well. She got out of bed this week.”

“When does Margaery make her next flight?” Doran asks.

“She has one scheduled two and a half weeks from now,” Rhaenys answers. 

“Can we be ready by then?” Doran taps on the lamppost beside him. “I don’t want to risk waiting another few weeks.”

Rhaenys surveys her team members. Nobody has any objections.

“I’ll book our tickets to Volantis tonight.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-linear narration all around~


	5. The Forger

Sansa finds herself putting in longer hours in the studio for the next two weeks. There was much work to get done.

It takes a week to finish Sam’s and Stannis’ levels. Stannis was particular about his paradoxes, and Sam had only recently finished his weapons design for his train car. 

A week from her self-imposed deadline which was one day before the team made for Volantis, she works overtime again. Rhaenys and Jaime were her companions for the night, double checking documents and accounts they will be using for the trip. They stepped out an hour ago to meet a friend who would take on the job of sabotaging the Tyrell private jet. 

It was near midnight, and she had just finished the last of the changes and additions Rhaenys asked for for her level. She walks around and stretches her legs, peering outside the window. It was dark, and she did not feel like walking home alone. She drinks some water before padding over to the sole couch in the studio. Kicking her shoes off, she balls her sweater into a makeshift pillow and lies down. Sleep comes quickly. 

—

“We’re buying out the whole flight crew. Can’t take any risks. The first class cabin was also bought and reserved exclusively for our team.”

“And her private jet?”

Sansa blinks, her mind slowly waking up.

“It will be out of order as scheduled. Our friend is on it. She’s got the pilot covered as well. The mark already has a seat reserved in our cabin.”

Rhaenys and Doran are by the board going over the final plans.

When Sansa sits up, she notices the coat draped over her. It was beige, soft and warm, and felt very expensive. It could only belong to the forger. 

“Take the rest of the morning off, Sansa,” Rhaenys says to her once she notices the architect has woken up. “You’ve been working too hard anyway.”

Sansa shakes her head, unconsciously burrowing into the coat’s warmth. “I’m alright. Just got to head home for a quick shower. Stannis wants to do another sweep of his level.”

Rhaenys sighs. Just as she was about to tell her that the pointman could wait a few hours, the forger walks in.

“And she’s alive.” He sets down a bunch of folders on the desk. “I tried to wake you last night, but you were dead to the world. Rhaenys told me to let you be.”

Sansa flushes. “I was finishing the mazes,” she says as she starts packing her things on the desk. “You leave for Volantis in a week, remember?”

She walks over and hands him his coat.

“Thank you,” she says primly. 

“You were fussy last night, you know,” he says, mouth curling upward. “Batting me away when I was only trying to make sure you stayed warm enough.”

Sansa rolls her eyes as she puts his coat down and slips her sweater over her head while trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. 

“You’ll need it for your walk home,” he says as his head nudges in his coat’s direction. “Temperature dropped today.” 

“I like the cold!” She slaps his arm before walking out of the studio.

When she steps out, a freezing blast of wind hits her. Days of the fall were starting to give way to winter. As much as she loved an invigorating walk in the cold, she knows that even this was too much for her. Sighing, she marches back up to the studio. 

When she peeps inside, she sees Jaime printing a few files. His coat is still where she left it. He hears the door creak as she steps in and looks back. 

“That was a quick shower” Jaime says as he picks up the coat from the table and holds it open for her.

Sansa huffs in annoyance. She crosses the room and lets him help her slip it on. Her eyes narrow as she gives him an irritated look. 

His laughter follows her as she walks out of the studio.

—

By the end of the week, the layouts of each dream are finalized. Plans have been set with contingencies in place. The whole team meets for the first dry run to patch up any lingering holes in their plans. Sansa joins them to take note of any last changes she needed to make. Everything goes smoothly until they get to the bottom level.

“We’re lacking,” Rhaenys sighs, exasperated. “Damn it, I should have seen this from the beginning.”

“Lacking what?” Doran is surveying the heavily guarded palace-like fortress they were going to break into. “Plan here is I get the mark to the safe room right? Jaime’s got us covered too.”

Jaime looks to Rhaenys to explain things to Doran, already knowing what she meant. 

“Yes,” his niece answers, “but Jaime doesn’t know the layout of the maze. He knows where to go, but he won’t be able to cut through if we run into trouble.”

All three eyes turn to the architect who is looking around the mountainous terrain. 

“I assured Howland she wouldn’t be joining us in the field.” Jaime smiles sardonically. “It won’t be the first vow I break. But it’s still up to her.”

“Sansa,” Rhaenys calls. 

“Did you find anything that needs tweaking?” Sansa asks as she walks back to them.

“Not really,” Jaime answers.

“W-wh-”

“We need you in the field with us for this,” Rhaenys says apologetically. “We’re a man short, and you’re the best one for it. You designed all three layers, after all.”

Sansa looks a little surprised. “Won’t I just be in the way?”

“No,” the Targaryen girl says, smiling. “You’ll be doing a lot of coordinating in case we need a quick escape. Or get stuck in nastier situations.”

“Still, it’s your choice.” Doran tells her, not wanting to coerce the girl. “We can tap someone in Volantis if you say no.”

“I’m in.” 

She knew from the beginning that she was not going to be coming with them for the actual mission. But she had come to love her job in the weeks she had been working with the team. There was just nothing like the feeling of creating worlds and having entire cities rise and fall with a single thought. Needless to say, she jumped at the first opportunity presented to be on the field. 

Jaime procures her papers and documents with ease. Rhaenys makes a few calls to get her seats on their flights. She spends that night packing, excited and nervous for what she is about to get into. With their final plans in place, the team gets a break for two days. Sansa spends the time reading through the updated file on the Tyrell heiress. 

She discovers that Margaery Tyrell actually has her own business ventures. She was an avid fashion designer and even had her own couture line that was doing exceptionally well. Sansa looked up her designs and actually even bookmarked some of them. It still felt unreal to her how she could already afford such luxuries. Margaery was also in the food business with three restaurants already opened in the Reach. Her fourth one was slated to open early next year. It was in Lannisport. She truly was already one accomplished woman, even without the family business in her name. 

One day before they leave for Volantis, she checks back in the work studio to go over her models and designs one final time. When she gets there, she finds Jaime hooked up to the PASIV. Alone.

Howland Reed had always praised her curiosity and desire to push the boundaries of what was possible. He said it was what gave her work a distinct and fresh quality.

Tonight, however, she feels that her curiosity might be a double-edged sword. She ignores the voice screaming “ _No!_ ” in her head, hooks herself to the machine, and drops into the forger’s dream.

—

She is hidden behind a tree line, watching a handful of people stand around a coffin. There are two older men, a woman, and two children. The woman has her hands on a stroller. One by one, they make their way to the coffin to put a flower on it. Spring hangs in the air. The sun is shining, and birds are twittering about. The day was too beautiful for a burial.

A squall pierces air. Sansa sees the taller man flinch. He makes one motion with his hand, and a governess steps into view to take the baby away. 

Sansa slowly steps back into the tree line. She turns around and follows the dirt path into the shifting forest. There is a second of darkness before she emerges into a foyer. She hears arguments and moves towards the sound, trying to figure things out. 

“Please, Father,” a woman’s voice says, “it’s only a few weeks, and it will be a fantastic opportunity.”

“What do you need this for anyway,” a harsh voice says. “You’ll be wasting your time. Kevan has already cleared a position at HR for you.”

“Her internship was one of the most competitive ones to get into!”

“And I spent months applying for it!”

Sansa peers into the door left ajar. She sees the Lannister twins, maybe in their early twenties, in front of the man who must be their father.

He turns to glare at Jaime. “You’ve been assigned to marketing analysis.”

Jaime and Cersei prepare to argue again, but he stops them. 

“You’re both as ungrateful as that imp, disappearing with his trust fund as soon as he was of age. Get out of my sight, and start packing. You’ll be moving by the end of the week. Our company won’t run itself, and I won’t have the both of you throwing away your duties.”

Sansa backs away, rushing to the door. When she steps through it, she ends up in a warehouse of sorts. Walking carefully, she peeps around the stack of crates at the corner.

There are five people hooked to what looked like an older version of the PASIV. Sansa spies Jaime and Cersei among them. An older man is placing an old headset around one of the dreamers. Within a minute, they all wake. 

“How was it?”

“Escape route worked beautifully,” a familiar voice answered. “Cersei, excellent work.”

Sansa contains her gasp as she recognizes her mentor. 

“Tomorrow,” Cersei says, with a sharp smile. “We’re a go?”

“Aerys and I have one last job to finish tonight,” Reed says. “We’ll know by then.”

So this was Aerys Targaryen before he went mad. He was still unnerving. 

Sansa backs away slowly and breaks into a brisk run towards the backdoor. When she opens it, she steps into blinding light and into a meadow overlooking a the sea. 

“Mama!”

She sees a young blonde girl run up to the woman with a young boy beside her. The woman laughs and bends to pick her up, giggling as her daughter places the flowers she picked into her hair. The young boy grabs a hold of his mother’s hand.

“I don’t even remember what she looks like.”

Sansa’s heart jumps to her throat. Jaime steps up beside her. 

“She’s always like this. Watching the sun set,” he says, a faraway look in his eyes. “But she never turns around. I think I remember her smile. Always so warm and lovely.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died giving birth to our younger brother. My father died that day too. He was never the same. Cersei and I had each other, at least.”

“Jaime, I’m sorry,” Sansa whispers.

He starts walking back and she follows him. The dream shifts again. They are walking up a winding rocky path.

Sansa walks beside him quietly, not knowing how to break the silence. He does it for her.

“How much did Rhaenys tell you?”

Sansa looks at him for a moment. “Cersei. Aerys. Enough to know why you refuse to learn the specifics of the mazes.”

“The Mad Targaryen,” Jaime says darkly. “I never should have trusted him.”

“Wh-what happened?” Sansa dares ask. 

“We were about two years into the whole corporate espionage and extraction business when we met him,” Jaime says as they continue their climb. “His ambition and desires to dig deeper were infectious.”

Sansa wonders what Aerys was like back then.

“Between the both of us, it was always Cersei who led. She wanted to rise above the rest. Wanted to be the best of them. Aerys used that fire in her to endear himself to her. He acted as her guide and guardian, always pushing her forward. She relished it.”

Jaime pauses to take in the view from the mountainside. 

“I was away on a job in Braavos,” Jaime says, “when he asked her to go into limbo with him to show her what it was like. To build and discover what else lay there.”

Sansa feels a little lightheaded. 

“But he had other motives. He wanted to try inception. Wanted to see if it was possible. So he planned it carefully and used my sister as a mark.”

Jaime sighs. 

“Cersei was different when I got back. And it only started getting worse. She was so sure that we both were stuck in a dream. That we needed to die to get back to our real lives.”

“How did you figure out it was him?”

“You’ll see.”

They walk into a particularly steep slope. Jaime scales it first before turning around and pulling her up. 

“This is the only way I can dream anymore,” he says as he continues walking. “And the dream always ends the same way.”

They reach a small clearing that ends in a cliff. Cersei is sitting on the edge, legs dangling over it. She smiles when she sees her brother.

“You came back!” she says as she rises from her seat. She starts walking towards them.

Sansa looks at the forger. His face is impassive. 

“Have you finally come to your senses?” his twin asks. “You were always the stupider Lannister. _This_ is reality, Jaime. Stay with me. Together, we can build again.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” a voice says from the shadows. 

Sansa shrinks back as Aerys Targaryen steps out. 

“Inception,” he says in a marveling voice. “See. See how the idea grew past the dreams and seeped into reality.”

“You destroyed her.” Jaime has gone rigid, his eyes filled with rage. “She trusted you, and you stabbed her in the back. And you blamed me for it.”

“Don’t be absurd, Jaime,” Cersei says. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s you who has a problem. And why did you bring a little guest into our world?”

Cersei stalks forward, bending down to pick up a sharp rock. 

“Look at her,” Aerys says. “The perfect result of my labors. Magnificent.”

He laughs a low rumbling, menacing sound. 

Sansa feels the mood shift. The wind gets colder. Jaime puts his arm out and gently pushes her behind him. He starts slowly maneuvering them towards the edge of the cliff. 

“I’m sorry, Cers,” Jaime whispers as he backs them up. “I should have been there.”

“You weren’t!” Cersei suddenly screams. “You left! You broke your promise!”

Just as she lunges, Jaime grabs Sansa and jumps. They fall into the raging sea below and wake up in the studio. 

Sansa stares at the ceiling for a while before sitting up and turning to face the forger.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

He brushes off her apology. “You should know what you’re getting into.”

“Won’t you get arrested,” Sansa asks, “when we get to Lannisport?”

“Part of the deal includes Doran making a call to clear my charges if the job is a success,” he says. 

Sansa is quiet for a moment. Jaime starts packing up the PASIV. Sansa detaches her line and passes it to him. She gets up and wanders over to the desks, not knowing what else to do at the moment. A folder catches her eye—one with the picture of Petyr Baelish. 

“Have you met him?” Jaime asks. “Baelish, I mean?”

“Once,” Sansa recalls. “At a small networking thing. He never spoke to me. Just listened to my pitch and walked away the moment he could.”

She picks up the file and starts browsing through it. He stops her and plucks it out of her hands.

“You,” Jaime says, “may find something in there that could compromise your mental and emotional state for a few days at least. And you might not want that in your head while we’re in the field.”

Sansa gives him a clueless look, not knowing whether he was serious or if he was teasing her.

“What?”

“Would you like to read it now or after the job?” he asks, holding up the file. “Choice is yours, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sansa decides that he is being serious then. 

“After,” she tells him. 

Jaime smiles wanly, tucking the file into his bag.

“You up for dinner? I’m starving, and I think you owe me one for snooping around.”

Sansa lets out a breath she had been holding in. 

“Can we get some lemon cakes after?”


	6. The City

The team spends their short downtime in Volantis scattered throughout the city. Stannis was adamant that none of them be seen together to avoid raising any suspicions. Olenna Tyrell had eyes and ears everywhere, and he did not want to take any risks. 

Sansa wanted to visit the ruins and the ancient public stadium, but she decided to walk around the area of her hotel instead. She can come back another day at her leisure. That night, she eats a quick dinner at a cafe nearby. As she prepares for bed, she spares a thought for Baelish, wondering what exactly was in his file that made the forger act that way. But thoughts of their mission quickly filter back in, and Sansa drops into a fitful sleep. Tomorrow was going to be stressful enough.

She gets to the airport four hours before the flight schedule. As Sansa goes through baggage and security, she tries not to look around for the rest of the team. She checks in without any problems and briskly walks towards the boarding gate, hoping to grab a bite. She settles for a banana from a small deli stand. Airport food was always notoriously overpriced. 

She spots Rhaenys when the first call for boarding is announced. If Rhaenys also sees her, she does not act like it. The Targaryen woman was too experienced to make that mistake. As she walks up to the counter, she spots Jaime at her periphery and Sam right behind him. Sansa wills herself not to turn and look. The team boards the plane as strangers.

She settles into her seat, looking at the scene outside her window to keep herself from accidentally talking to anyone. 

“Excuse me.”

She turns to the unfamiliar voice. Margaery Tyrell has just arrived. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” Sam says, flustered. He slips into his seat to let her through.

The woman was even more intimidating in person. She was already utterly gorgeous with an empire soon to be in her name, but she also exuded a cool sort of confidence that Sansa had always wished she possessed. 

The plane takes off. Now all they have to do is wait for Rhaenys’ signal. 

— 

Margaery Tyrell catches the silver-haired girl in the seat right beside hers staring more than once. She gives her a smile.

The girl perks up immediately. “Sorry, but aren’t you _the_ Margaery Tyrell? Designer of the Thorned Rose couture line?”

Margaery cocks her head, amused. Meeting fans was always a cute moment.

“I am. How did you know?” she replies.

“I loved your latest winter collection,” the girl gushes. “The rose peacoat was to die for! 

Margaery smiles genuinely. The past few months have been quite taxing, and this felt like such a wholesome moment to live in for once. The flight attendant interrupts, asking them if they wanted any refreshments.

“Oh, just some iced water for me please!” the girl says.

“Me too,” she requests before she turns her attention back to the girl. 

“So are you also into fashion?” she asks. “Any plans to get into the industry?”

The girl laughs. 

“I wish, but no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not exactly gifted in the designing department.”

The flight attendant comes back, and the girl picks both drinks off the tray and hands Margaery her glass. Margaery thanks her and takes a sip.

“I’m really really sorry for being so bothersome, but your business ventures, especially how you made a name for yourself in the fashion industry are just inspiring! And you design _everything_ your brand sells!”

Margaery laughs at her naivete.

“Thank you, my dear,” she says sincerely. “I hope you get to experience the same success in your future.”

The girl gives her a large smile before she turns to her screen to pick a film to watch. Margaery begins to feel drowsy. 

— 

Rhaenys drops a pillow onto the sleeping heiress. She does not wake. The extractor gives a nod to the crew waiting by the curtain barrier, signalling that it was time. 

The team is quiet as the PASIV is brought out and set up. Lines are unravelled. Stannis wraps one around Margaery’s wrist. Sam passes Sansa her line. Everyone settles in place. 

Sam takes one last sip of champagne and settles back into the reclined seat. He takes a deep breath and nods at the flight attendant. She pushes the button, and they drop into the first layer of the dreams.

—

The heat from the sun is scorching. Sam feels sweat drip down his back. He walks out of the park to the sidewalk beside the main road, hugging the PASIV to his chest.

A black car pulls up in front of him. The window rolls down, revealing Jaime. Sam gets in.

“Could you not have picked someplace where we aren’t in danger of passing out from the heat?” the forger asks. 

“Oh, stop complaining and start looking for the others,” Sam says as he peers out the window.

Sansa shields her eyes and walks down the block, trying to find some shade. A white van rolls up to her, its door opening. She sees that it is Rhaenys in the driver’s seat. She gets in, and they speed down the road. 

“It’s midday,” Rhaenys says, observing the sun. “She’ll probably be out for lunch. She’ll have a private car for sure.” 

Doran is waiting outside a skyscraper. He sees Stannis across the street, eyes on Margaery Tyrell who has just walked out of the restaurant across the street. She is on the phone, calling for her driver. When her car rolls up and her driver steps out to open the door for her. Doran crosses the street while Stannis makes for the driver’s seat left open. With Margaery ushered into the car, the driver moves behind it to make his way back to his seat. Doran steps up behind him, his gun digging into his back. 

“Walk,” he whispers to the man who has suddenly froze. 

With the man taken care of, Doran slips into the seat beside Margaery.

“I’m sorry, but this is my private service,” the Tyrell heiress says sharply.

“Oh, I just need a lift,” he says amiably. “I’m sure we can share.”

The car has begun driving down the streets into the city.

Margaery turns to her chauffeur. “Marcyl-” 

She freezes when Stannis looks back for a second. Doran takes out his gun and lays it on his lap.

Margaery rolls her eyes and brings out her phone and wallet. 

“Here, there’s three thousand in there alone,” she says, tossing both down onto the empty seat beside her. “I’m also worth at least twenty million. Just name your price, and you’ll get your money by the end of the day.” 

“I’m afraid we’re not after that,” Doran says.

And a bullet cracks the window behind them and whizzes through the car, barely missing Stannis.

“Go!” Doran yells as he yanks the girl down the seat and covers her head with his suit jacket. Stannis floors it, and they speed down the avenue, two vans in pursuit. 

“There!” Sansa points when she sees the chase. She catches a glimpse of Doran firing back before he drops back down to take cover.

“Do you think they’re alright?” Sansa asks worriedly.

“They’ll be fine,” Rhaenys says, her gun ready. “Take the wheel now.”

The women switch places. Sansa was suddenly grateful to the chemist for insisting that she learn how to drive during their dream sharing sessions. She gets on the tail of the chase. Rhaenys leans out the window and shoots down three men through the windows. The van swerves and rolls over, crashing into a convenience store. One down, one to go.

Four masked men on motorcycles suddenly draw up beside the van, flanking them.

“Duck!”

Sansa obeys, and Rhaenys shoots. She hears a loud crash amidst the shooting and sees one of them flying into a parked car. 

“That would be Sam and Jaime,” the extractor says. 

Sansa breathes deeply, trying to not panic. She checks her side mirror and sees the car behind them flash its lights. She lets them overtake her, and they suddenly speed up and ram into the last van still in the chase. The van lurches and turns, skidding to a stop. Five armed men exit, and they start firing on the car. 

“Keep right,” Rhaenys orders.

As she approaches them, Rhaenys shoots and takes out two men. Two more suddenly drop to the ground while the last one shoots at her. Sansa screams and ducks, her foot slamming on the break. 

She hears a few more shots. Then things go quiet.

The door beside her suddenly opens and she lets out a small shriek.

“Easy,” the forger soothes. “Climb into the back. Take some time to calm down.”

Sansa exhales before doing as he says. Rhaenys takes the wheel, and they make their way to the rendezvous point.

— 

Rhaenys and Jaime are unperturbed while Sam looks like he is about to pass out. Sansa feels more like the latter. When they get to the abandoned train station, Doran and Stannis are waiting by the parking lot.

“Where is she?” Rhaenys asks when they get down from the car. 

“In the holding room,” Stannis says. “She seems a little shaken from all the shooting, but other than that, she’s unharmed.”

“How long has it been?” 

“Fifteen or twenty minutes? You took your time getting here.

“Go down there, and do your thing,” she tells him.

Stannis nods, and they all walk to the station office. 

“Lannister, get to work,” Rhaenys orders. “The faster we get through her, the more time we’ll have down there. It will be worse, and we’ll need all the extra time we can get.”

Sansa watches as Jaime sits in front of the makeshift vanity with four mirror panels hinged to form a semicircle. She feels much better now. Much less likely to pass out. Besides, watching the forger get into character in the actual dream was fascinating. His reflections begin to change, and one by one, each one flickers and turns into Petyr Baelish.

Rhaenys is on the comms, listening to Stannis shake up the heiress and ask her for a code to a safe.

“Are we ready?” Jaime asks, looking back, but his face and physique have changed. Baelish sits in his place, a few bruises on his face and a gash on his cheek.

Rhaenys holds up a hand for a few moments. She gives Jaime a nod, and Baelish starts screaming and yelling for someone to stop.

— 

“Please, stop!” she pleads. “Don’t hurt him!”

“The code.”

“I really have no idea what in seven hells do you mean, I don’t know any safe—”

“Your godfather says otherwise.”

Margaery looks at her masked captor, stunned. He starts walking away.

“Let me speak to him, please,” she calls after her captor.

Her godfather is soon dragged into the room and thrown onto the floor. Their captors leave them. Margaery does not know how long they have.

“Marg?” Her godfather coughs. 

“Uncle Petyr, what’s the safe combination? What are they talking about?”

“The safe in your mother’s office. The one they kept by her bedside until she died. They’ve got a man there waiting for the key, but I don’t know it. Alerie must have given it to you—”

“Mother never gave me a combination!” Margaery says as she frantically tries to remember.

“Olenna said that Alerie only gave the code to you.”

“What’s in the safe anyway?”

“Something meant only for you. Her will.”

“I thought that was with the family lawyers?”

“It’s not the same one. This one holds more weight and power, and we need to get it back before it falls into the wrong hands.”

Margaery balks.

“ _We_?”

Petyr coughs again, groaning as he holds his side. 

“Olenna and I have been doing everything we can to secure the family empire and safeguard it,” he says. “For _you_.”

“And something in the will threatens our-”

“Yes!” her godfather says. “Alerie left statements in it that would break up everything we worked for! Everything we’ve built!”

Margaery scoffs. 

“Grandmama would never allow that,” she says. “She would kill to keep the empire safe. Mama could barely talk by the end. She never told me any code for anything, much less mention an alternative will she left.”

“Think, Marg,” Petyr says. “It is imperative we get a hold of it first before others—”

“Why would she leave me such a thing?” Margaery wonders out loud, allowing herself to think of her mother for the first time in years.

“That’s not important, what’s important is we have to get a hold—”

The door opens, and two masked men enter. One of them is on the phone.

“The code.”

“We don’t know,” Margaery starts. “The both of us were never given any code or—”

A gun is pointed to Baelish.

“Six numbers.”

“Please-”

“Now! Right now!”

“N-nine, three, one, eight,” Maegaery stutters out. “Seven, two.”

The man on the phone passes the message. After a few seconds, he glances at his partner and shakes his head.

“Time for a ride,” his partner says, bringing out bags. “Think of how you can do better while we’re on it, for your own sakes.”

Bags are thrown over their heads, and Margaery feels someone yank her up and start walking her somewhere. They climb a few staircases, and she is forcibly sat down on some bench. 

“Please, let me call my—”

Doran drops a sedative into her mouth, and she passes out. 

Jaime removes the bag from his head and heads out of the train car to help load the last of the weapons.

“Well?” Stannis asks.

“She’s repressed much more grief about her mother than I expected,” Jaime says, delighted.

“Does that work in our favor?”

“Yes,” Rhaenys says as they all . “More issues repressed means a much stronger catharsis at the end.”

“And Olenna and Baelish?” Doran presses a button, and the door to the train car slides close.

“She has her suspicions,” Jaime says, dropping into the seat beside the architect. “There was a bit of bitterness simmering beneath the surface. I tried to come off as more focused on protecting the empire than protecting her. We’ll see if it worked when we get down there.”

“Hope,” Stannis says as he shoots down a helicopter with a rocket launcher, “isn’t good enough.”

“We can adjust to what we find,” Sansa tells him.

Sam starts the engine, and the train car rolls down the tracks. Rhaenys has the PASIV set up securely. 

“We need to open up her doubts about Baelish,” Jaime says as he passes a line to Sansa. “Turn them into full-fledged suspicions, and bring out the animosity. Let her really feel it for that man.”

“But won’t that destroy a positive relationship?” Sam asks.

“No, because we’re opening her eyes to his true nature,” Sansa replies. 

“And what about security?” Stannis is seated upfront, ready to go under. “The first level was bad enough. It will get so much worse down there.”

“Change of strategy,” Rhaenys says, lighting up. “Let’s pull a Varys. Jaime, I’ll need an opening. The usual card.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Stannis practically shouts. “We got shredded to pieces the last time we tried that.”

“Yes, but did you get what you needed?” Jaime asks him, a smirk on his face.

Stannis huffs and turns around, settling into his seat. The rest of the team does the same. Rhaenys turns to Sam.

“Be careful,” she warns him as she takes her seat. “Try to keep us stable. And don’t get yourself killed this early.”

Sam nods solemnly. “The music will cue the kick. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. The maze should give us enough time. I hope.”

Rhaenys takes a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Sam asks, turning to survey the team. Everyone nods.

“Happy trails!”

He pushes the button, and they drop into the second layer.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts, comments are always welcome!


	7. The Ball

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

Stannis blinks. The bartender smiles at him, waiting for his answer.

“Just some water,” he says, turning around to scan the room. The mark is by herself on one of the tables. The forger slips past, his movements practiced. Stannis only has to wait a few more moments before the extractor shows up and gets to work.

“Your drink, sir.”

He nods in thanks, takes a sip, and waits.

— 

The pianist is playing Debussy’s Clair de Lune. Guests of the gala are dressed in black ties and shimmering gowns as they sip champagne, laugh, and chat daintily. Couples are dancing to the sweet melody. It reminds Jaime of the ones his father made him attend. Nauseating. He grabs a napkin and quickly writes a forged note. 

Rhaenys is the first one he sees. She is idling about, observing their mark sitting at one of the tables. Margaery looks a little distracted, staring blankly while she swirls her drink around. He makes his move, walking quickly to the heiress while she is still preoccupied. When he reaches her table, he deftly slips the napkin beside her purse. He walks back to the bar and turns just in time to see Rhaenys put on a tipsy façade as she drops into the seat next to Margaery. 

A flash of red in his periphery catches his attention. He spots Sansa walking around the edge of the dance floor, her back to him. She takes in the whole room, looking around until she meets his eyes. She makes her way over to the bar.

She was in a silk gown of bluish grey that dipped low on her back with her hair curled slightly, cascading in gentle waves. She was mesmerizing.

“We don’t usually get this much attention so early,” she says nervously, snapping him out of his trance. 

Jaime stills for a moment then smiles. He holds out his hand. 

“Might as well try to blend in.” 

Sansa hesitates for a second. She hopes he does not notice her flush as she accepts. 

“Varys?” Sansa asks, a little confused as they sway gently.

“One of the most talented extractors to have ever worked in the business,” Jaime says. “He had a trick he liked to use. One that turned the mark against their own subconscious.

“Why doesn’t Stannis approve of this?”

“Because we have to make the mark aware that they’re in a dream. We turn Margaery against her own subconscious and make her think we’re on her side. Unfortunately, that shifts much more attention to us.”

“So that’s why they’ve been staring,” Sansa says. “Particularly at Stannis.”

“Keep an eye on Rhaenys,” he murmurs before he twirls her around. “When she gets Margaery to realize that she’s dreaming, that’s our cue.”

— 

Margaery’s musings are interrupted when a drunk guest suddenly slides into the empty seat beside her.

“Oh, there’s more champagne to try at the bar,” she says, giggling. 

“I—I’m sorry,” Margaery says, “but are you looking for your companion?”

The girl laughs. “Marg, seriously, come on!” 

Margaery lifts a brow. 

“Do I know you?”

The girl cocks her head, smiling. She suddenly sobers up completely. 

“I should hope so,” the girl says, smirking. “Sava, remember? I’m head of your security down here. Even gave you the number I’ll be using for the night a while ago?”

She stares pointedly at the napkin by her purse. Margaery picks it up and unfolds it, revealing a note with the name “Sava” and the number “931-872.”

When she looks up, Sava smiles.

“My team and I are here to protect you, Miss Tyrell.”

“From what?” 

“From anyone who might try to steal something from your mind, of course.”

Margaery does a double take. 

“I’m sorry, but you’re security for what, exactly?”

“Subconscious security, Miss Tyrell,” Sava says. “You’ve been trained for this, remember? It’s why I’m here.”

“You mean dreams?” Margaery is beginning to find this absurd. “From extractors and corporate spies? Oh, please, it’s just a charity gala. I’ll probably be home before midnight.” 

“Is it really?”

— 

Jaime holds her lightly as they dance across the ballroom in the direction of the gardens. Sansa feels much warmer with him this close. She almost trips when a tremor suddenly shakes the room. Jaime keeps her steady, helping her stand upright.

“She’s breaking it into her slowly,” he whispers as he leads. “Watch her subconscious.”

Sansa sees everyone start looking at Stannis who stands by the bar. They drop their gazes after a few seconds as if nothing had happened. Stannis, however, turns towards the exit soon after, presumably making his way to the meeting point. She sees Doran follow shortly.

“Do we also have to go now?” she asks, peering over his shoulder to check on the extractor who was still talking to the mark. “Rhaenys might need our help.”

Jaime shakes his head. “You’ve never seen her work in the field. Don’t worry, she’ll meet us there.” 

They reach the edge of the dance floor in a moment. Sansa starts to lead them to the tower where the rooms they will be using are.

— 

“Look around you. It’s in the little things. The weather outside-” 

Margaery stares out the tall glass windows. The sunset bathes the ballroom in red and orange. In a blink of an eye, the light winks out, and harsh rain pours from the sky. 

“Strange isn’t it? Look at your glass. Gravity defying laws of physics-”

She notices the liquid in her glass tilting. The room suddenly shakes. The guests of the gala are blissfully unaware, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“We’re in a dream?” Margaery asks, doubts beginning to sprout. 

“Do you remember how you got here?” 

“Of course, my chauffeur - I - I was -,” she stutters. Nothing comes into mind.

“Oh Gods, we’re dreaming, we’re- someone is-”

“Calm down, Miss Tyrell,” Sava says. “Breathe. I’m here to protect you. You projected me into your subconscious; placed me here to protect you from extractors. I believe there are people after you. And they are closing in.” 

Margaery looks around the ballroom furtively. 

“We have to go now.”

She nods sharply, getting up to follow Sava’s lead.

— 

Doran and Stannis walk past Petyr Baelish as they make for the lifts. Both notice the half-dozen brutes who start stalking them. They make it to the nearest lift and take one up. Stannis punches the button for the seventh and eight floors. 

“That wasn’t Lannister, was it?” Doran asks. 

“No,” Stannis says. “That was definitely Tyrell’s projection of Baelish. Let’s hope he acts the way we’ve set him up to. And that his goddaughter starts being wary of his ulterior motives.” 

Doran nods.

“Where are the charges?”

“Should be somewhere in Room 872,” Stannis answers. “There will be men after us. We’ll split up to divide them. I’ll meet you there. Get rid of them as fast as you can.”

The doors open, and Stannis steps out. Doran sees a large man round the corner in front of him just as the doors slide shut. 

— 

As they walk through the garden that leads to the tower, Sansa is starting to freak out about the men who have been following them. There was only one at first who was not bothering to hide. He followed them right out of the ballroom. Three more joined in as they walked through the garden. 

She moves closer to Jaime. He is calm and collected, still walking on, but his eyes are alert and calculating. .

The one coming on the left closes in. Sansa has no time to scream as Jaime shoves her behind him. He grabs the man’s arm and twists. Shots are suddenly fired at them, and Jaime uses the attacker’s body as cover as he maneuvers them in the direction of a bronze sculpture of a family of stags.

“Get behind the statue,” he whispers. “Now!”

The shooting stops, and the other three men start running towards them. Sansa dives to the ground and takes cover. 

She dares not peek. All she can hear are punches or kicks and grunts as hits are landed. She kicks off her shoes and crouches, picking up a sharp rock lying nearby. One of the goons suddenly comes into sight. He rushes towards her as she stands.

He aims his fist at her face, but she ducks. He grabs her arm, and she jams the rock as hard as she can into his neck and pulls it out. Blood spurts out of the wound, staining her dress. The man manages to throw her down before he staggers back, clutching his throat. Sansa gathers herself, getting into a fighting stance once more, her weapon ready. 

The sound of the fighting winds down, and her heart starts pounding. 

Jaime comes rushing around the corner, his eyes wild. She sags against the block that holds up the statue, sinking to the ground, her eyes closed. She hears him walk towards her. 

“Are you alright?”

Sansa nods as she takes another second just to breathe. When she looks up, she sees him handing her a piece of cloth.

“There’s blood on your shoulder.”

She wipes away what she can. She turns back to him when she finishes. He is holding out his jacket. She takes it and slips it on to cover her stained dress.

“Thank you,” she manages to whisper.

“Come on,” he says, offering her his arm. “Rhaenys is right behind us.”

She loops her arm through his, and they quickly continue walking to the room. 

— 

Stannis finds Doran in Room 872 waiting with the bag of charges.

“Where are we setting this up?” Doran asks. 

“Not here,” Stannis says, counting how many they have. 

“But the kick-”

“The kick from above is Sam going off the rails and throwing the whole train car into the river,” Stannis says. “Before we hit the water, the car will be in free fall which means there will be no gravity here.”

“How did you plan to go about that?”

“Elevator,” Stannis says as if that answered his question clearly.

Doran stares at the man, waiting for more explanation. He is given none.

“Start pulling out the cord. I’m going to need it to drag you all around.”

— 

  
  


Margaery was still a little agitated from the attackers who surprised them even before they made it to the garden, but Sava proved to be an extremely proficient fighter. After the three men were disposed of, they practically ran as they made their way to the tower lifts. 

“Who were they?” she asks as they wait for one to take them up. “What were they after?”

“They might have been sent to kidnap you for an interrogation,” Sava answers. “Think, Miss Tyrell, is there anyone right now who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Margaery says, hacking her brain. “It’s still Grandmama in charge of things, and I’ve not learned all the company secrets yet.”

“Then what do you remember before this?”

“Uh—uh—oh, Gods, uh—we—we were kidnapped!” she exclaims. “They also took my godfather! Petyr! They tortured him to- to extract some code from me. Some code for a safe!”

“What was the code?”

“Um— _ fuck _ , oh, nine!” Margaery thinks harder. “Nine, three, one, eight—something, gods, I need to sit and think.”

“That number they forcibly extracted from you could represent a place.” Sava says, stepping into the lift. “This tower houses hotel rooms. We can start there in Room 931. I’ll send a message to my team.”

When they exit the ninth floor, the corridor is empty. As they approach the designated room, a blonde man steps into view, gun at the ready. There is a woman peeking from behind him. Margaery stops.

“It’s alright, they’re with me.”

Sava gives the man a nod, and he kicks down the room’s door. They do a full sweep. 

“Sava,” the man calls as he brings out a silver briefcase and lays it on the coffee table. 

Margaery recognizes it. 

“This—they use this for extractions, don’t they?” She was beginning to put the pieces together. “They were going to put me under again?”

There is a sound at the door - someone fiddling with the lock. The man steps into position, and Sava nods once. He yanks it open, grabbing the intruder and throwing him onto the ground. Margaery gasps.

“Petyr?” She is bewildered. “Why are you here?” 

“Wasn’t he also kidnapped? Held hostage with you?” Sava asks her.

“No, he’d already been interrogated when they got me. He had bruises and cuts and was bleeding -”

Sava cuts her off. 

“Did you see them do it?”

Something clicks in her head. 

“You,” Margaery whispers. “Was it all a ruse, Petyr? Did you plan this?” 

“Marg, I would never,” he denies.

“You were hellbent on getting that will, on getting that code for the safe!” 

She stares at her godfather accusingly. 

“You needed to get me to open the safe for mama’s will, didn’t you,” she says, seething.

Baelish drops the act.

“The Tyrell Empire has been my life’s work. I will never let it fall into the wrong hands!”

“I would never sabotage my own family,” Margaery says, her voice rising. “Why would I? I’ve always done what’s best for the company!” 

“With the information in that will, you would crumble,” her godfather sneers. “You don’t have your grandmother’s thorns or spine. You let your emotions cloud your decisions. And I needed to bury that part of you.” 

“He’s lying.”

Margaery turns to Sava. “What? How can you tell?”

“It’s my job,” her security says. “He’s got something he doesn’t want you to get a hold of. Why don’t we find out what it is?” 

Sava strips off the bed covers and sets up the PASIV. Baelish goes silent, head held high. Margaery takes one hard look at him before nodding silently to Sava. She takes a seat on the bed.

“We’ll get into his head and dig up whatever he’s hiding,” Sava says as she sticks the line into Margaery’s wrist. 

The heiress drops into slumber.

“What about him?” Sansa asks, looking in Baelish’s direction. Even as a projection of someone’s subconscious, there was still something so unsettling about him.

“Look away,” Rhaenys tells her as she screws a silencer onto her gun.

Sansa’s eyes go wide. She wraps the jacket more tightly around her and bows her head, screwing her eyes shut. She feels hands press gently but firmly over her ears and barely hears a thing. The hands move away after a few more breaths.

“It’s done,” Jaime says softly. 

When Sansa looks up, she sees that the bed covers have been thrown over the body.

The door opens once again, revealing Stannis and Doran. Stannis locks the door and starts pulling out the cords. He was going to need a considerable length for the kick.

“Are we going into Baelish’s subconscious?” Sansa asks, a little confused.

“No,” Rhaenys answers, smirking. “I had to tell her it was Baelish’s so she’d be on our side down there.”

“We’re still going into Miss Tyrell’s,” Doran says.

Lines are passed around. Sansa settles on the couch while Jaime and Doran find spots on the floor. Rhaenys takes her place beside Margaery. Stannis stands by the PASIV doing one final check.

“Security will be hunting you down,” Rhaenys says.

“They can try,” the pointman answers. “The maze is set.” 

“Don’t miss the kick.”

He nods once, pushes the button, and the team is plunged into the final dream.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. The Gamble

Dark wings fly overhead. The crows’ caws filled the air. Rhaenys looks up, her eyes following them for a moment. She gets off her motorbike. The sky was grey, and it looked like it was getting darker every minute. A storm was coming. 

She shifts her gaze to the compound on the clearing down the mountain. Peeking through her binoculars, she counts four watchtowers with two guards each. Jeeps and bikes were parked neatly at the base. More men are milling about on the grounds. All were heavily armed.

Footsteps. Twigs snap. Over on her left. 

Rhaenys whips around immediately, her rifle ready. She finds herself face to face with a frightened architect whose hands are already raised in surrender. 

“Sorry,” Rhaenys says, directing her rifle down and relaxing her stance. “Can’t be too careful.”

Sansa bobs her head up and down in a manner too jittery for Rhaenys’ liking. She was still clearly reeling from whatever happened up in the middle layer. Rhaenys did not miss the blood stains on her dress, much as she tried to hide it with the forger’s oversized jacket. 

Two people dressed in the same black gear were rappelling down the left mountainside. Doran and Margaery trudge up the rocky slope to meet them. Jaime soon joins them, coming up from the other side on a motorbike. Rhaenys waves him over while the heiress looks over the terrain and scrutinizes the compound. 

“This is my dream, so I’ll run interference and lure out as much of their security away,” Rhaenys says in a hushed tone. 

“Who gets Tyrell into it then?” Jaime asks. “It can’t be me. I could compromise the whole mission.”

“I designed the place,”Sansa volunteers, “I could—” 

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Rhaenys says. “You’re with Jaime. He needs someone who knows the layout.”

She leads them over to where the mark stood. 

“What now?” Margaery has her eyes on the fortress. “How are we breaking into that without getting killed?”

“Our best bet would be drawing the guards away,” Doran says. “There are too many for us to sneak past.”

“I’ll draw them out.” Rhaenys is adjusting her belt and securing the straps of the knives attached to her ankles. “Clear a path for you. The western tower looked to be the most heavily guarded one, so that must be where your godfather is holding his secrets.”

“I’ll go with her,” Doran says. “Best she has someone watching her back.”

“Take one of the bikes,” Jaime says. “You’ll need to get there as fast as you can.”

Rhaenys turns to Sansa. “Brief him on the route to the complex and to the safe.”

The architect follows her order and takes Doran aside to make sure he knows where to go and how best to avoid the projections.

“What about the rest of your team?” Margaery looks a little doubtful at having only one man for backup. “Aren’t they coming? We’ll have more people helping to crack the safe open.”

“Miss Tyrell, this is something you have to do on your own,” Rhaenys says solemnly. “Break into your godfather’s mind and find out what truths he and your grandmother conspired to hide from you.”

Margaery takes a deep breath. She starts adjusting her boots for the trek.

“Keep your comms on,” Jaime taps the small device attached to the collar of his jacket. “I’ll cover you from the north tower.”

“Miss Tyrell,” Doran says, motioning her to get on the seat behind him, “we better get going.”

“Good luck,” Rhaenys bids them. 

They split from the team, speeding along the rocky path to get down the mountain.

“Put your hair up.” 

Sansa turns to the forger. He was pulling out a knit hat from his pack.

“The red is too noticeable,” Rhaenys tells her. “Makes you an easy target to spot and take out.”

Sansa quickly obeys and slips on the knit cap. 

“Go,” Rhaenys orders. “Take the other bike. I’ll give you a head start before firing the flare.”

Jaime gets on, steadying the bike for Sansa. She climbs behind him and secures herself, holding onto his shoulders.

“Go left,” she tells him. “The grassier path should get us to the forest right by the north tower in under an hour.”

He starts the engine, and they make for the compound, leaving the extractor to do her work.

Rhaenys gives the team ten minutes before firing a flare high up into the sky. When she checks on the compound, she sees the men assembling, making their way to her position. She smiles. All she has to do now is wait.

— 

They are speeding along the trail in the forest. The crowns of the trees around them are thick, obscuring the sky and filtering in almost no light. It is getting darker. 

Jaime suddenly slows down, parking the bike behind a wide trunk and killing the engines. The headlight dims.

“What-”

“Hush.”

She listens to their surroundings. Engines. Men shouting orders. The dirt road is slowly being lit by incoming vehicles. The sounds get louder and louder as a line of armored cars with men on bikes flanking them speed by. 

“How is Rhaenys going to deal with all that,” Sansa whispers. 

“She’s strategic,” he says. “She’ll find a way, don’t worry.”

They wait for the sounds to die down before getting back on their route. 

— 

Up on the top layer, Sam fires another grenade. The car in pursuit blows up, tumbling over. Bullets fly and he drops to the ground with a sound of distress.

“Feels like this chase has been going on for hours,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. 

He checks his weapon system status and finds that he is running low. 

“Fuck, I hope you’re all close to finishing the job down there,” he mutters, steering the train car on the route that led to the bridge. 

He slips the headphones onto Stannis and starts playing the music.

—

Doran and Margaery reach the cliffside. They ditch the bike and start climbing towards the edge. 

Margaery peers down. The drop would land them in a small clearing obscured by rocks. Straight ahead was the west tower.

“Here,” Doran says, handing her the climbing harness.

He wraps and fastens their anchor securely to one of the sturdier rocks. He pulls and bears down his full weight to test it. It felt like this was the safest they could be. 

They start climbing down the mountainside as fast as they can. 

— 

Rhaenys is dancing circles around the army of projections. Split them up. Blow up their cars. Knock the men out or take them down with her rifle. She was making decent progress. By her estimations, she has cleared out at least one-third of the security force.

She has a moment of peace after she shoots down the last man on a bike. Shoving him off, she takes it for herself. That’s when she hears it. 

— 

Stannis has just thrown another projection off his paradox. Climbing back up, he shoots down another two before his gun runs out of bullets. 

Music starts faintly playing in the air. 

“Oh fuck, ” he grumbles, rushing back to the room. “Fuck, Tarly, too soon, too soon—”

More projections were coming after him.

— 

“Jaime?” His comms crackle as Rhaenys’ voice comes in. “Do you hear that?

He and Sansa made it down the mountain about ten minutes ago. They were trudging through the last of the forest to get to the north tower. He cocks his head. The wind. The wind sounded strange. Melodious. 

“I noticed it around fifteen minutes ago, thought it was just the wind howling at first, but listen—” 

“Fuck, it’s the music cue,” Jaime says. 

“We need to speed this up.” Rhaenys taps her comms. “Doran?”

Doran and Margaery were halfway down. 

“We’re going as fast as we can!” he yells in reply. A few more feet down, and they could safely rappel to the ground.

”How long do we have?” Sansa asks the extractor. 

“Sam is probably twenty seconds from throwing the train over bridge so that gives Stannis around ten minutes -”

“And a little over two hours for us,” Sansa finishes. 

“Can they make the route in less time than that?” Jaime looks at his watch as if calculating something.

“I don’t think so. They’ve still got to hike up and navigate the compound. This place was designed as a labyrinth,” Sansa says, biting her lip in worry.

“They need a more direct route,” Jaime says. “Something that cuts straight through the maze. Is there any? Rhaenys?” 

Only sounds of fighting and explosions come from her end. Seems like she had run into the second wave of security.

“Sansa, did Rhaenys add any features?” 

Sansa balks. “I don’t think I should tell you? What if Cer—”

“There’s no time,” Jaime says as he hurries her along. “We have no time, what did she add?”

“The piping. She made it large enough for a man to go through,” Sansa replies, brow furrowed. “It cuts through the fortress and leads straight to the antechamber of the safe room in the west tower.”

“That will work,” Jaime sighs. “Explain it to Doran.”

“Doran?” Sansa says into her comms.

“I’m here!” 

— 

Doran and Margaery slide down towards the clearing. They quickly climb over the rocks obscuring them, making their way to the entrance leading to the piping system.

— 

In the middle layer, Stannis is fighting off the last two projections blocking his way. He lands a blow to one man’s head knocking him out. The other at the end of the hallway dives for the gun on the floor.

On top, Sam straps himself into his seat. He hits the lever, and the train swerves off the rails. 

Stannis and his assailant suddenly fly into the air. 

— 

Rhaenys hears the rumble first and quickly swerves down and out of the way. She rides over the last of the rocky terrain and lands on the path cutting through the forest. The rockslide takes out the remaining men for her.

“What happened?” Sansa frets. “Rhaenys, come in! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she answers. “That was Sam swerving off the bridge.”

“That means—”

“We have about thirty minutes,” Jaime answers. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

— 

The train car starts to fall into the lake. Sam closes his eyes, bracing for impact.

Stannis grabs the gun that floats past. He shoots at the last projection and takes him out. He starts climbing back to the room.

— 

Sansa and Jaime reach the base of the north tower. They sneak in and climb up to the watch room. Two guards rush to detain them, but Jaime shoots them both down. He sets up his sniper rifle and gets into position. 

Margaery and Doran are going around the base of the West tower. Doran finally sees the exhaust port Sansa instructed him about. He motions Margaery to turn around and grabs two charges out of her pack. He sticks them to the thick steel grill before grabbing the heiress and taking cover behind some rocks nearby. He clicks the button and blows up a hole large enough for them to climb in. 

They follow the piping and reach the vent. Margaery peers through it, seeing guards filtering into the room. 

“We’re right at the entrance,” Doran whispers into the comms.

Meanwhile, Rhaenys is sneaking around the complex, taking down security as she goes. She is setting up charges at the base of the towers.

Jaime starts picking off the incoming security. Sansa watches uneasily as he continues to do so quite calmly. 

“I-if these projections are part of her subconscious, then aren’t you destroying bits and pieces of her mind?” Sansa asks.

“No. These are just projections.”

“Jaime!” Rhaenys sounds alarmed. “The rest of the army is headed back to the complex. It’s like they know something! 

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

“I’m down here!” Rhaenys says as she reloads her weapons and takes another rifle off a dead guard. “I’ll hold them off as much as I can!”

“Are we clear?” Doran is waiting for the go signal

Jaime scans the room once more. 

“Clear, but hurry up,” he says. “The army’s headed straight to you.”

The radio frequency suddenly spikes, and everyone flinches at the sound. 

Margaery turns down the volume of her comms, motioning for Doran to do the same. They needed to keep as quiet as possible. She takes off the vent and crawls into the antechamber.

Rhaenys has reached higher ground. She is setting mines along the wall of the west tower.

“Wait,” Jaime says, focusing into his scope. “Someone’s coming.”

Sansa checks using her binoculars and sees a pair of legs dropping in from above.

“Shit, It’s a trap!” Sansa holds her comms to her mouth. “Doran! Get out!” 

She watches as both Doran and Margaery move cautiously towards the safe room, not hearing any of her warnings. Doran stops midway to stand guard while Margaery walks towards the double doors to slide them open. 

Jaime prepares to fire.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “Drop a little lower, come on—”

Cersei drops into his sights. He freezes.

“It’s not her,” Sansa’s voice is tense. “Jaime—”

“How can you know that?”

Sansa looks up and sees Cersei getting in a closer range, her gun by her side.

“Jaime, she’s just a projection,” Sansa says, trying to get through him. “Please! Doran! Doran and Margaery are real!”

Jaime glances at her and nods tersely. He turns back to his scope only to see Cersei raise her gun and shoot them both dead.

He barely hears Sansa’s cry as he pulls the trigger instinctively. Cersei drops onto the floor. 

“Rhaenys! Rhaenys! Get into the antechamber now!” 

Sansa grabs his arm, and they run for the west tower.

— 

Stannis is floating in the hotel room, binding the stacked bodies of the team together. He starts dragging them towards the lift.

With everyone on the team safely inside, he slides the doors closed and opens the hatch above. He crawls towards the bottom, cutting the lines to free the lift on one side. He sets the charges on the four corners. He climbs back into the lift. He slips the headphones onto Rhaenys and presses play. Curling up beneath the handlebar, he starts counting down.

— 

“What happened?” Rhaenys gasps as they meet at the antechamber.

“Cersei shot them both -” 

“I was too slow.” Jaime is still stunned. “I didn’t—”

“It won’t do any good to try and resuscitate them.” Rhaenys sighs. “They’re trapped in limbo.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s you who gets arrested after this.” Rhaenys will mourn the loss of a good friend and partner later. Right now, they needed to get back to the real world.

He helps her start setting up the last of the charges around the room in preparation for the kick.

“There’s still a way.”

She turns towards the architect.

“Sansa, there’s no time—”

“No, no, we can follow them down into limbo. Limbo where there will _be_ enough time!” Sansa looks hopeful. “When Stannis cues the music, try and shock Margaery with the defibrillator.”

She and Jaime look at each other. It was a gamble, and the stakes were high. But it sounded plausible. And it was their only shot at finishing the job. 

“We can give her a kick from down there. Then you get her to open the safe! When the music ends, blow up the compound, and we can ride the kick up through the layers!”

“Are the rest of the charges planted?” Jaime asks as he grabs the PASIV out of one of the cabinets. 

“Yes,” Rhaenys says. “I can bar the door and drop grenades down the piping to hold them off.”

Sansa and Jaime get on the ground. Rhaenys hands them a line each. 

“I know where Tyrell will be,” Jaime says as he inserts his line, wrapping the strap around his wrist to secure it. “Cersei will have her captive. She’ll use her to get me back.”

“Can you do what needs to be done?” Sansa is lying down, looking at him with a worried expression.

Jaime chooses not to answer her. He lies back.

“Hurry.”

Rhaenys presses the button, dropping them into limbo.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how long this took to update this time. We got hit by four storms in two weeks last month, floods were devastating, and electricity and internet were all pretty much out of sorts. I was really focused on donating and spreading information on relief ops online. That combined with ever-present school work really took a lot out of me. But truly, thank you to all those who are still here reading. Comments are always welcome!


	9. The Void

A sharp gust of wind cuts across her, and she gasps awake. She was in the middle of some abandoned colosseum once probably used for plays and orations. She gets up quickly, scanning her surroundings for any sign of attackers. Her footsteps echo loudly as she walks towards the gaping doors. Once outside, she finds herself on the shores, a long strip of glittering black sand along the coastline. Looking up and around her, her jaw falls open at the sight of a grand city filled with skyscrapers, monuments, and even a palace carved into a cliff. 

A distant crash sounds—a building collapsing and being swallowed up by the earth. The world was decaying. 

Sansa walks along the beach, getting caught and thrown off balance by the sudden tide that comes in. Someone from behind hauls her up.

“She built all this?” Sansa asks in wonder. “This is incredible.”

“With Aerys at first,” he says. “She wanted to come back and show me what she had created. I could never say no to her.”

He points to the castle built into the rock.

“We built Casterly Rock and the whole of Lannisport from memory,” he continues. “Only then did I realize that he had done something to her. She thought we had gone home. She kept building and wouldn’t leave. Not until I jumped off the Rock and pulled her with me.”

“How long were you in here?”

“Decades.” 

They walk through the deserted ruins in silence. Sansa stares at their creations in amazement, admiring the masterful craft. 

“How are we going to find her here?” Sansa is already feeling lost at the sheer size of the city.

He points again to the castle. They are walking towards its base. 

“That’s where she’ll be,” Jaime says. “This was the ancestral family home.”

“Will she have Margaery here?”

“Yes.” 

They reach the wide road that leads straight to the castle entrance. Sansa gapes. The doors of the castle were set in a roaring lion’s mouth, majestic and golden. 

“We spent our happiest days on vacation here when we were kids,” Jaime says wistfully. “When mom was alive. We lived mainly in Lannisport, but summers were always at the Rock.” 

Jaime pulls out a gun, motioning for her to step behind him. He pushes the door open, the metal on marble groaning loudly, announcing their arrival. They find themselves in an empty foyer, thick layers of dust lining the decor. The chandelier is dimly lit. 

“Come on,” he says, leading her to the lift. “She’ll be up there.”

The lift is old, but serviceable. The ride to the top of the castle takes only a minute, but Sansa feels like hours have passed.

“Why didn’t she believe you?” Sansa cannot imagine such a brilliant woman undone by an _idea_. “You said you jumped off the Rock with her and woke up. Wasn’t that enough?”

Jaime sighs.

“The idea he planted in her head took hold like a parasite,” he says. “It grew and grew and dug deep, latching onto her mind.”

The doors of the lift slide open. They step out, cautiously looking around before walking to the living room. They find Cersei sitting at the table, fiddling with a large knife. Jaime hands Sansa his gun and sits down beside her.

“The world you know of is not real,’ Cersei whispers, her eyes boring into his. “This one is. Here. With me.”

Jaime reaches for her hand.

“Cersei, this was only ever a world we created in dreams.”

“Do you think you’re right?” she suddenly rages. Her head turns to Sansa. 

“Do you believe him when he says this world is a dream?”

“I know what is real,” Sansa says, surprised at how steady her voice is. “He does too.”

“This is a dream. Cers—”

“What do you think defines reality, brother?” Cersei sneers. “Laws of physics obeyed around you? The dead staying dead? Your totem?”

Sansa sweeps her gaze around the room slowly and carefully, looking for Margaery. 

“You golden fool, you’ve lost your sense of reality a long time ago.” Cersei’s voice is filled with certainty. “Your doubts have always been there, and now they’ve risen. So do as I did and choose your reality. We are two halves of a whole. Stay with me.” 

Jaime glances at Sansa. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, squeezing her hand. “This isn’t anyone’s reality.” 

Sansa lets out a breath she has been holding. His twin sister frightened her. Not to mention, their first encounter was anything but pleasant. 

“I cannot follow you here. Not in this life.”

Cersei laughs, her eyes rolling. 

“You dare tell me I’m wrong when you believe the same thing?” She is taunting him. “That your reality is the one that rings true?” 

“I know it is.”

“What if I’m right? What if I am what is real?”

“You aren’t,” Jaime says, suddenly defiant. “You aren’t her at all. You’re a poor memory, and I’m sorry for that.”

Cersei’s eyes widen a fraction.

“She was fiery and ambitious.” Jaime’s voice has risen. “More grounded in the reality up above than I ever was. This was her world to conquer and rule. She never wavered.”

“I am her!” Cersei screams, pushing off her seat. “I am not lost! What other lies do you have to throw at me?”

“Not lies,” her brother whispers. “Guilt. I should have been there by your side. Kept you safe and trusted him less.”

Jaime looks at her, a pained expression on his face. 

“It was him who planted the idea in your head—the idea that uprooted your grasp on reality. A man you trusted so fully that you followed him into limbo without fear.”

“Aerys,” Cersei whispers in disbelief. “No, n-no, it can’t be.”

“And when you brought me here, I tried to find what he planted and locked away,” Jaime goes on with the truth he has carried with him for years. “You told me I was being ridiculous, that this was _our_ reality. So I pulled you with me when I jumped from the Rock. To prove that death in this world was the necessary escape.”

Tears are streaming down Cersei’s face.

“That we’d wake up,” Jaime says. “And we did.”

Cersei furiously wipes away the wetness on her cheeks. 

“I never thought the idea would keep growing and invading your mind after we woke.”

“That my world,” she whispers, “up there was not real...”

“You continued to believe it.” 

“That death was the only escape…”

Sansa looks at the woman, her heart breaking at the tragedy that was Cersei Lannister. She did not deserve to have her mind destroyed by a man so cruel and inhumane with no regard for humanity. Anything to further his ambition. 

“You killed me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says. “I was trying to bring you back, back to the real world, out of this dream.”

“You dragged me to my death.” Cersei is shouting now. “You betrayed me! This was our world. Our home that we built together!” 

—

Rhaenys hears the music play. She sets up the defibrillator and begins shocking the mark.

—

The sky suddenly lights up with veins of lightning. 

“Jaime, we need Margaery,” Sansa says urgently.

“Never,” Cersei says through her teeth. “You’ll be trapped here with me forever.”

“And if I stay?” Jaime asks, his eyes never leaving hers. “Can she take her back up?”

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks frantically. “Jaime, what—” 

“She’s out on the terrace,” Cersei says, her face suddenly devoid of anger.

“Jaime, no, you can’t—”

“Check on her,” the forger orders, eyes never leaving his sister’s. “Now, Sansa.”

Sansa rushes towards the terrace and finds Margaery, beaten and bound, but alive. She takes off Margaery’s gag. She peers over the balcony, eyeing the steep drop down towards the rocky shore. Lightning strikes again, and Sansa pushes the mark over the broken rails.

“I’ve given her the kick! But we have to go now!” 

“I have to stay.”

Sansa rushes back into the room.

“She’s not real,” Sansa pleads. “Jaime, you cannot be with her here—” 

“I’m not.”

Cersei’s expression suddenly turns, her pure elation vanishing in a split second. Betrayal was clear on her face.

“Doran is still down here somewhere. I have to find him.” 

“How dare you tell me that I’m not real when you hold on to me like I’m the only person you believe in anymore?” Cersei sees red.

“You have no idea how much I wish you were. But you’re not her.” 

She lunges and stabs him in the gut. Jaime gasps in pain.

He hears a scream and a shot. Cersei cries and is thrown back, her hand trying to staunch the bleeding from the wound below her left shoulder.

Sansa walks closer, gun pointed at Cersei, ready to fire again.

“No,” Jaime chokes, “please don’t.”

Sansa looks at him, her arms shaking from the impact of the shot. She drops the gun.

—

Margaery gasps, hungrily taking in lungfuls of air.

“The safe room!” Sava is pushing her to her feet. “Hurry!”

Margaery staggers towards it and slides the doors open. Her mother lies on the bed in the center, a safe right beside her. Alerie does not speak, already taking her last breaths. She holds out her hand to her daughter. 

Margaery’s throat tightens as she grasps her mother’s hand. Her mother squeezes gently with all the strength she can muster.

“You—you stopped being you the day—sh-she named you heir…”

She smiles at Margaery sadly and looks to the safe. Alerie Hightower takes her last breath, and her hand goes limp.

Margaery wants to scream, but she holds it in as she has done all these years. She drops to the ground in front of the safe. There is a keypad. 

She types in the numbers 9-3-1-8-7-2. The safe opens. 

Inside is a will, among other things. She finds an old family photograph, back when her mother and father were still alive. Back when their family was whole. It was a small Christmas dinner, but their smiles reached their eyes. Beside it lay an old folded letter with her name on it. It was written in her mother’s penmanship. 

She unfolds it.

_You don’t have to be your grandmama. You are better than her. You always have been, I know this. Be happy, my darling. Trust yourself, and no one else. I love you._

A dam breaks inside her, and she curls up as sobs rack through her body.

Rhaenys watches the scene unfold, counting down to the music cue. She detonates the charges. 

—

The sky is plunged into darkness. Winds are howling. A cyclone is swirling on the horizon. 

“You have to go,” Jaime tells her. “That’s the kick!”

Sansa grabs his arm, trying to drag him.

“Come on!” 

“I have to find Doran,” he says.

“And I have to let her go. Say goodbye.” 

Sansa’s lips quiver, and she impulsively throws her arms around his neck.

“Be safe,” she whispers. 

Jaime wraps an arm around her waist.

“I’ll be back. Promise.”

Sansa lets him go and runs. She lets herself fall off the castle into the swirling storm of darkness.

—

The rest of the team ride the kick back up the layers of dreams, waking up once the train car hits the water.

Margaery wakes, looking around for her godfather. He isn’t there. Sava is swimming up to her, offering her oxygen. She takes one breath and swims up to the surface. 

—

“You promised,” Cersei says feebly, grasping her brother’s arm. “You promised you’d be by my side forever.” 

“I did.” Jaime knows this would be the last time he sees her. “We spent decades here, remember? Only us. We created magnificent things.”

“Two halves of a whole,” Cersei says. She was fading. “I miss you.”

“I miss her.” Jaime strokes her hair. “I always have. She will always be with me.”

Cersei looks at him. 

“But I have to let you go.”

She nods, her eyes closing. Jaime holds her gently as she breathes her last.

—

Margaery crawls to the rocky shore, her bodyguard following her. 

“I’m sorry.” Sava says.

“I know what my mother wanted for me,” she answers, talking mostly to herself. “To be happy and live my life. Find love and marry whoever I want to. Run the company how I see fit.”

Margaery feels a surge of determination. Rhaenys sees the sudden change in her too. 

“And that’s what I’m going to do.”

The corner of Rhaenys’ mouth curls up ever so slightly. 

—

On the other side of the river obscured by trees, the rest of the team sit, trying to gather their wits about them.

“Where’s Jaime?” Stannis asks. “What happened?”

“He stayed to find Doran,” Sansa tells him.

“What?” Sam is aghast. 

“He’ll lose himself,” Stannis says, shaking his head. “They’ll both be out of their minds.”

“No.”

Sansa just _knows_. 

“They’ll make it back.” 

—

Jaime finds Doran. Or rather, Doran’s men find him passed out on the beach. They drag him into a bright room and sit him across an old man. A cup of water is placed in front of him.

“I think I met you once,” the old man says. “In a half-remembered dream.”

Jaime takes a sip. He looks up to the glass dome, seeing rain and sun, sleet and hail, battling to rule the skies. The glass holds against it all.

“I have been waiting for someone,” he continues, “to come for me.”

“Someone from your half-remembered dream?” Jaime asks. “Or someone from a life you once lived?”

“You’re too young to be him,” he mutters. “He would have to be as old as I am.” 

“But he’s only gotten here.” Jaime persists. “I’m sorry I’ve taken this long.”

The old man’s gaze is piercing.

“I’ve come back to look for you.” 

Jaime gestures to the crumbling world around him, to the storm that rages one second and gives way to the sun to shine the next. 

“To remind you that this is not the world that is real.” 

The old man looks at him curiously.

“And that you still owe me something,” Jaime says, tapping the phone lying on the desk.

“One call,” the old man says.

Jaime nods. 

“Come back. Your family is waiting for you.”

The old man picks up the gun. Jaime smiles.

—

The forger’s eyes open to the flight attendant handing him the breakfast menu.

“Choice of eggs and sausages or a mushroom omelette, sir.”

Jaime’s eyes look at her for a moment, his mind still adjusting. His hand is groping for his totem in his pocket.

“Eggs and sausages, please.”

She nods and gives him a smile. 

The medallion. Cold. Smooth. Weight and balance as he knows it. This was not a dream.

He scans the cabin. 

Margaery Tyrell looked contemplative. Her fork was toying with her omelette. 

The pointman had his nose buried in a magazine. The chemist was happily polishing off his fruit platter. 

His eyes land on the architect. She offers him a tiny discreet smile before turning back to her meal. 

The man in front of her sits up suddenly. Doran. Jaime watches him intently as he looks around the cabin, looking for someone. 

He and his niece share a look. The extractor gives a small nod. _Job done_.

Doran picks up the phone, making a quick call. 

Jaime allows himself to fall back onto his seat and breathe. 

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we finally made it through the movie plot, and it took 9 chapters lmao. Movie ends here, but the story doesn’t. I’ve still got a bunch of loose ends of storylines to tie off. Happy holidays and have a fun rest-of-December, and hopefully, we all get a better year ahead!


	10. The Aftermath

The team leaves the plane as they boarded—as strangers. Sansa keeps an eye on Margaery Tyrell, observing her as much as she is able to. The heiress acted as if nothing seemed amiss. That reassured the architect a little. 

The airport in Lannisport was a much busier one compared to the one in Volantis. Their plane arrived at the same time slot as three other planes which meant long lines and bustling crowds. The lines at immigration winded around barriers set up by airport officials. It looked like it was going to be a bit of a wait. 

When Sansa gets to the front of the line, she catches sight of the forger waiting for the immigration officer to approve his passport. There is a tightness to his jaw, a rigid tick if one looks closely enough, while he stands and waits for what must feel like eternity. 

The officer stamps his passport and hands it back to him with a nod. She watches as he smiles and says his thanks before walking through. The anxiety that had been gnawing at her starts to dissipate. 

Baggage claim was surprisingly fast for her. Sansa’s worn but trusty luggage with the bright pink tag was already out amongst the first few sets released onto the carousel. She spots most members of the team around the area as she parks herself beside a post, pulling her phone out to text Arya that she had already landed back in Westeros. 

Sam is pushing a trolley, already on his way out. Stannis is on the phone, and he seems to be annoyed at whoever he was talking to, as usual. Rhaenys and Jaime each grab only one luggage before proceeding to the exit. Doran is standing around the baggage carousel, still waiting for his bags. Sansa wishes she could say a proper goodbye, but the nature of the job didn’t really have room for sentiment. 

Margaery was met immediately by two assistants who already had her bags. Sansa watches as she is led to a waiting limousine. 

_ Oh, to be rich and to be waited on, hand and foot _ . 

She rolls her eyes and hails a cab to take her to her hotel for her stay in Lannisport. 

She was, once upon a time. Rich. She had the privilege of being born into generational wealth. A thousand years ago, she had been the eldest daughter of the Stark family. It was her family name on one of the largest energy companies that powered the majority of the industrial areas of the North—Stark Winds Corps. She had everything in life served up to her on a silver platter.

Her mother, however, made sure she raised her children to know the value of being independent. Catelyn Stark was adamant that her children would never grow into the socialites down South who made the tabloids regularly. They never had any nannies or much help. They had their own chores and were expected to help around the house, and later, the family business. Winterfell Keep might have been their family’s ancestral seat, but they lived in a more reasonable and manageable house in Winter Town. The castle was only opened to host celebrations and special events. 

Her father was the president of Stark Winds Corps, their company which mainly focused on harvesting and utilizing wind energy to power the majority of the North. He was well-respected, honest in his work, and fair with his dealings. Her older brother Robb and her cousin Jon had just finished college, and Ned Stark had already brought them into the fold. By that time, she and Arya were mostly capable of looking after themselves. But Bran and Rickon were still children under the watchful eye of their mother. Life back then was much simpler. They were happy.

But she had learned early on that nothing good ever lasts. At least for her, nothing did. 

She was seventeen and was bound for her dream university in King’s Landing. Her parents and Robb were away for a business trip, where Bran and Rickon were brought along as the Stark sisters and their cousin had their own share of responsibilities to deal with. Their company had been on the verge expanding, and her parents made for the Eyrie to meet their new partners. 

Her bags were already packed, and she was all set to move into her apartment. She was having a small farewell dinner with Arya and Jon when the call came. 

A car crash. One survivor who managed to crawl away from the wreckage. The rest burnt beyond recognition. 

The three of them had rushed to the hospital at the Eyrie where Ned Stark was brought to. His doctor managed to stabilize him, and private investigators were ready to interview him. Their flight had just landed when they got the call that he had gone into cardiac arrest all of a sudden. They were not able to revive him. 

Sansa remembers passing out after that because the next thing she knew, she was waking up in a hospital room, a drip on her arm. Arya was on the chair beside her, watching the news report. One look and they fell apart, holding onto each other, sobbing in grief. That was how Jon found them—sniffling and crying on the hospital bed, arms wrapped around each other. 

He told them the rest of the report details. Foul play was suspected, of course. This was a competitive business merger, and Stark had won the coveted partnership with Arryn. But there was no useful evidence at the scene of the wreckage. Ned’s autopsy report had highlighted the fact that high levels of potassium were found, but the forensic pathologist explained that it might have been due to his injuries and burns which were quite severe. 

They flew home with one coffin and four urns, and they reached Winter Town just in time to see blazing fires raze Winterfell Keep. The firefighters salvaged what they could, but it would take years and sums amounting to millions to rebuild the ancestral seat of the Starks. 

Sansa barely remembers the funeral service or the burial. She was too busy trying to help Jon salvage what they could. With Ned Stark’s passing, the serpents and turncoats had slithered out of their burrows. Bolton was the first to snatch up the majority of their shares. He also embezzled a great deal of their funds, leaving the surviving Starks bankrupt as they had to pull out their trust funds to pay for the damages wrought. The rest of their investors pulled out, seeing as the company had already all but collapsed. 

She and Jon were at least able to sell off the last of the stocks and save that bit of money in the bank. They also sold the house and moved to a smaller apartment, and decided to put most of the money into Arya’s remaining years of school. Jon chose to go work as a trainer and assistant manager at a local gym. Sansa gave up her slot at King’s Landing University and opted for the architecture program at Greywater Watch instead. She scored a scholarship with a stipend, and student dormitories were provided there.

They had survived the worst. Grief faded in time, and the living still had to live.

Halfway through college, she stopped and took a leave to go work at an auction house in Maidenpool. The salary was pretty good. It helped pay the bills, and it let Arya set up her own woodshop. She worked for two years before going back to Greywater Watch to finish her degree. It was during her final project presentation that she met Howland Reed. He was a guest speaker and judge. She was elated when he took particular interest in her work and recommended her for the masters program in the Citadel. 

Arya had all but pushed her to go for it. Jon had been excited as well. Sansa had been hesitant, wanting to try for a job right away to start earning, but her sister and her cousin were determined that she do something for herself this time. 

So she took the shot. Now here she was, on her way to Golden Tooth. Sam had recommended that she stay at the Lefford Hotel, a small but sophisticated place with a four-star rating and glowing reviews from many socialites of the West and the South. The old her would have said no immediately to the price, but with the initial down payment from the job, money was suddenly not an issue. So she booked herself a room for a few days, planning to go around the city to see the Golden Tooth Castle and the ancient mines. She could move to a cheaper inn afterwards. 

The cab ride from the airport to her hotel was two hours long. Lannisport was a much livelier and colorful city than Oldtown after all. Sansa loses herself in thinking about the past. She wondered what her parents would say to her if they knew exactly what she had gotten herself into now.

When they get to the hotel, Sansa tips her driver generously. He gives her a large grin and wishes her well before taking off. She checks in and is led up to her room. Sam was right about the place. It was fancy but so very lovely, and the service was top-notch. 

She orders room service for a late afternoon snack, suddenly feeling the exhaustion from the past weeks of work. The adrenaline from the job was gone, and all she wanted was a good meal, a nice hot bath, and a long nap. 

_ Cold winds. Snowflakes brushing her cheeks. The crisp clear air of winter.  _

She is back in Winterfell, walking along the roots of the weirwood tree in the godswood. Burnt rubble and broken towers, all that was left of the castle, could be seen in the distance. 

“Hello?” Sansa calls. No one answers. 

She reaches the hot springs and kneels beside a pool, letting the steam warm her. She breathes deeply, a blanket of soft warmth settling over her. She’s missed this place. 

Leaves rustle. 

Before she can turn around, she feels the steel. She goes rigid.

“None of your pack should have been left alive,” a gravelly voice whispers. 

A mockingbird flies past. The steel vanishes.

Suddenly, her attacker shoves her into the pool, and she hears her own scream as she falls into darkness.

She gasps awake at two in the morning, blindly fumbling around the bedside table for her totem. It makes a clunking sound when she flips it over and stays unmoving. Sansa sighs and grabs her shoulder bag. She digs out a benadryl, pops it into her mouth, and gulps down a few sips of water. It helps a little. She sleeps fitfully until mid-morning. 

That was enough for now. 

—

It was midday, and the weather was cool and invigorating. Rust red and yellow orange leaves rustled in their trees, some already breaking away, marking the coming end of fall. 

She sits at an outdoor table in the small cafe she had taken to hanging around in near the Lefford. She has a book with her which she is earnestly trying to read, but her mind wanders. She reads over the same paragraph for five minutes before giving up. Restful sleep has evaded her for the past three days she has been here. 

She misses it. The power and the exhilarating rush she felt when she got to create. The nightmares were a small inconvenience. She has sleeping pills for that. 

“Mind sharing a table?”

The voice makes Sansa jump in her seat. Jaime chuckles. She rolls her eyes at him before waving her hand in the direction of the empty chair beside her.

The waiter comes up to take his order. 

“Any recommendations?” Jaime asks as he flips through the menu. 

“The roast chicken is a crowd favorite, sir,” Perwyn, as his nametag read, answers with a smile. “But I personally prefer the beef stroganoff or the sea bass with scalloped potatoes.”

“Beef stroganoff, then,” Jaime says, handing the menu back. 

Sansa watches as the waiter puts his order through. She sighs, realizing that she will probably be waiting for her seafood pesto pasta a little longer. 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa is wondering if he had any actual business in town. She tries to push down the delight she feels inside her at seeing another member of the team again. She plays it cool. Professional. Like how spies did in movies.

“Thought I might find you around the area,” Jaime says, taking a sip of water.

Sansa squints. 

“How’d you know I was—”

Sansa stops herself abruptly. Asking him that question would be silly. And she wasn’t exactly great at covering her footsteps as the rest of them were.

“You said after the job, remember?” Jaime brings a folder out onto the table and pushes it towards her. 

She takes a look at him. His eyes have lost their roguish twinkle, and he looks a tad morose all of a sudden. She wonders what could be so important in the Baelish file that he would track her down to give it to her.

“Right,” she nods, absentmindedly flipping through it. She decides to make it her reading for the night and slips it into her bag. 

“Do I give it back to you after or?” She thinks he will likely be shredding and burning the file anyway, but she still asks. 

“You can destroy it yourself,” Jaime says. “But I’m staying at the Dreamfyre Inn if you need someone to help.”

Before she can ask why would she need anyone’s help burning a document, the waiter comes back with their meals. Sansa thanks him warmly and digs in. Her pasta was alright. She could use more shrimp and more pesto.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Sansa hovers her fork over his dish, silently asking for permission. Jaime pushes his plate towards her, and she spears a forkful of beef and farfalle. The flavors explode in her mouth, and she groans softly.

_ Damn it, I’m getting that next time. _

Jaime chuckles, motioning for her to get more if she wanted. She was not about to turn down his offer. 

“Don’t know.” He shrugs and looks around them. “Don’t really feel like going back to the Rock so soon. Father can probably live without ever seeing me again.”

“Well, I’m going to see the mines today,” Sansa says, not knowing what spirit of confidence possessed her. “Want to come?”

Jaime looks at her for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and giving her a nod. They turn their attention back to their food. Sansa has to restrain herself from breaking into a large grin. 

She has not been on a date in years, not that this was one. No, this was just her asking a friend to come along and visit a tourist trap with her. The problem was that she actually likes him. He was infuriating at times and quite blunt, but he was also interesting and engaging. So she’ll take a day with him if that is what she can get. 

They spend the afternoon touring the ancient mines of Golden Tooth. Sansa has to hit him a few times for his remarks about whatever the tour guide was saying. She thinks she has not laughed or had this much fun with a friend in years. Maybe she really should go out a bit more after all this. 

They have dinner at the same cafe. She gets the beef stroganoff this time while he opts for the fish.

“I got this,” he says, reaching for the bill. “Besides, aren’t you a fresh graduate looking for her first job?”

“Why, yes,” Sansa says in a mocking tone. “Yes, I am!”

“I have to say goodbye for now.” He stands and slips on his jacket. “Have a friend to meet in a bit.” 

Irritation and disappointment suddenly simmers within her, but she tempers her feelings. She had hoped the day would last much longer.

“Try not to get into trouble,” she tells him, giving him a patronizing look. 

Jaime laughs shortly. 

“Room 214 if you need me.” He walks in the direction of the sunset. 

Sansa gulps down the rest of her sangria before heading back to her hotel room. She had a file to read. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Hope there are better days ahead for us all. Thanks for still sticking with the story even if we’ve already gone past the movie plot. Comments are always welcome!


	11. The File

A hit made to look like an accident. A man sneaked in as an attendant to give her father the fatal dose of potassium chloride. Her life torn apart for the sake of some  _ business expansion _ . 

Sansa does not finish the rest of the file. She sits on the floor, rereading the section detailing Baelish’s role in the acquisition of her family’s company through the Boltons. He was right at the center of the scheme, pulling the strings, from the death of her parents and her brothers to snatching up their company and their investors.

She had met him once. The man listened to her pitch and stood idly as if he was never the cause of immense pain and grief. 

He was a murderer. A monster. 

Sansa looks out the window. The sky had darkened. She was still dressed in her sweater and jeans and had not bothered to change when she got back. She presses the base of her palms to her eyes and tries to breathe. Her blood was hot and singing with rage. Her mind was in disarray, fear and wrath and tormenting anguish, grief from a lifetime ago simmering to the surface, a whirlwind threatening to tear her apart.

_ Room 214 if you need me. _

She glances at the clock. Eleven thirty. 

Sansa pushes herself off the floor and stuffs the file and her room key into her bag. When she gets to the lobby, she manages to ask for directions to the Dreamfyre Inn. It was a ten-minute walk, and she hopes the cold would help clear her head a little.

It didn’t. 

She finds herself outside his room, her fist knocking softly but rapidly, her breaths coming in short pants. 

The door opens, and she has no time to put on a calmer facade before she faces him.

He was already in an undershirt and worn-out joggers. His eyes were soft. She thinks she sees pity in them. She hates it. 

“Come on,” he says, ushering her into his room. He guides her to sit on the sofa.

Sansa sits and breathes, trying to ground herself, her totem clasped tightly in her hands. Her feet were jumpy, twitching and tapping on the soft carpet. 

“This is real,” she whispers. 

She wishes so desperately that it weren’t. 

Her face suddenly feels warmer. 

He was kneeling in front of her, a cup in hand.

“It’s just tea,” Jaime says, his hand wrapping gently around her wrist, urging her to put her totem back into her pocket. When she does, he pushes the mug into her hands.

Sansa takes a sip and bows her head.

“I—I don’t—I can’t—” she tries to express her thoughts but cannot form a single sentence. She thinks she feels bile starting to rise at the back of her throat. 

“Sansa, breathe.”

She looks up. 

It isn’t pity there. No, his eyes are understanding. 

“It was him,” she says, practically spitting out the truth she had just learned. “My parents. My brothers. All this time, it was him. But there’s no way any evidence can be used against him in court now, and the case has been closed for years and—”

She chokes down a sob. 

“I met him once,” she says bitterly. “If I had known then—”

_ And what if I had known _ .

She knew she was powerless against a man with very deep pockets and a sprawling network of allies he could simply pay off. 

For the first time in years, she finds herself truly lost 

“Word is Olenna Tyrell has relapsed again,” Jaime says quietly. “Baelish’s whole life is about to crumble. Rhaenys was sure we did the job right.”

Sansa looks him in the eye. She sensed no lies.

“C-can I stay?” she blurts out. “I can’t—the couch is fine, I just-need—”

“Finish your tea,” he tells her gently. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

He leaves her for a moment. Sansa drinks down the rest of her tea before it gets cold. 

“Bathroom’s right there.” He points to a closed door as he hands her an old flannel shirt and a pair of boxers.

Sansa takes the clothes from him and stands. She sways a little, and a hand on her back steadies her. 

“I can do it,” she mutters. 

She takes a quick shower and opens one of the complementary toothbrush sets. His shirt hangs loosely around her. 

When she walks back to the couch, she sees that he has settled on it.

“No, Jaime, I’m already barging in on you—”

He stands and steers her towards the bed, ignoring her protests.

“Come on, you need to rest,” he says as he pulls back the blankets for her. He stands, waiting for her to climb in. 

Something heavy settles on her chest. A crushing weight that would not get off no matter how much she tried to breathe. She stands and stares. 

“What do I do?” 

She feels like a train had just hit her. Her vision dims. Her chest is heaving, but she is still hungry for air. Her arms have gone numb. The ground vanishes beneath her feet. 

She doesn't know how long the panic attack lasts. The tingling sensation crawls back into her arms, and she slowly becomes more aware of her surroundings. Her head was resting against his shoulder, and her legs were swung over his lap. She feels something rubbing up and down her back gently. Her breathing has matched his.

“He’s still out there,” she whispers. 

“Vermin survives,” he says softly. “The worst of them always find a way to.”

Sansa feels herself go limp. She lets him scoop her up and tuck her in.

When he moves to go back to the couch, she grasps his hand. 

“Lights,” he whispers, squeezing gently.

She releases his hand, suddenly embarrassed. He flips the switches off and slips in beside her. Sansa burrows into his side, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She feels an arm wrap around her waist and another start stroking her hair.

“Sleep,” he whispers. “You can deal with it tomorrow.”

It takes a while, but for the first time in three days, she drops into a dreamless slumber.

—

Sansa opens her eyes groggily to the sound of voices at the door. She forces herself to sit up. When she checks her phone, she sees a few missed calls from both Arya and Jon. She hurriedly types up an excuse claiming jet lag and being a little tired from her day’s excursions. 

_ Arya and Jon _ . 

They deserved to know. They should know. But telling them the truth would destroy the peace and security they all fought so hard to build around their little family. 

“Think you can stomach some food?”

Sansa looks up from her phone. Jaime has set their breakfast out on the low table by the couch. He was pouring coffee into a mug at the small bar. 

She lifts the blank off her legs and gets up, making her way to the couch. Plates of eggs and sausages with potato pancakes were laid out. Sansa feels her stomach rumble. She drops to an easy seat on the floor and digs in.

A glass with some pink concoction is placed beside her plate. She gives it a sniff.

“Berry smoothie,” Jaime says, taking a seat on the spot beside her. “I think you had one with you everyday you went to work at the studio.”

Sansa manages a small smile in thanks, genuinely surprised that he remembered. Or that he actually paid any attention before.

They eat in silence for a while. The food at least was bringing some senses back to her. 

She catches him watching her closely as he drinks the last of his coffee. 

“I’m alright,” Sansa says with as much nonchalance as she can. “I feel better already.”

He rolls his eyes at her. 

“You’re not going to be,” he says, setting down his empty mug. “Not for a while anyway.”

She stares out the window.

“I can’t tell my sister,” she whispers, “or my cousin.”

He’s quiet.

“Knowing all this would break them.” Sansa turns to face the forger. “All the anger would poison them, consume them until they can’t think of anything else but exacting justice on Baelish.”

“And you?” He knows to some extent what she was feeling. 

“I’m tired.”

“You only just found out.”

“And I don’t want another storm to weather,” Sansa says, wiping away her tears. “I’ve mourned and buried my parents and my brothers. Arya and Jon are all I have left. If I choose to go after him, I would be risking their lives just as much as mine.”

Sansa sighs deeply.

“But Margaery,” she says, a flicker of hope in her heart. “She has power and influence. She has an edge over him. He’ll get what’s coming for him. What he truly deserves.”

“You, thinking this clearly,” he says, gesturing ather temple, “took only a night of sleep and some breakfast.”

Sansa flushes a little. He smiles.

“How did you do it?” she asks him. There would be many more ups and downs to get through before she could make her peace with the knowledge of what truly happened.

“Got drunk,” he says in a self-deprecating tone. “Moped a lot. I never really tried to put things behind me until a few days ago. You were there, remember?”

He gives her a knowing smirk. Despite the weight of the bloody truth, she feels her heart lighten. 

Her phone beeps. She checks it and sees a notification for checking out. 

“I have to—”

“Go,” he tells her, already clearing their plates. “I’ll clean up.”

Sansa grabs her clothes from the couch and changes quickly in the bathroom. She would be moving to a cheaper inn for the rest of her stay at Golden Tooth.

“When do you leave for Oldtown?” Jaime asks, stacking their plates and utensils back on the tray.

“In a few days,” Sansa says, brushing her fingers through her hair. “Already have my train ticket book. Graduation is next week.”

She picks up her bag and checks her totem one last time. Still real. 

“What about you?” 

Jaime shrugs.

“Might do a bit of travelling, I guess,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to visit Asshai again.” 

Sansa walks towards him and reaches for his hand.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely. 

Jaime tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“You’ll get there.” 

He sees her out the door. When she steps out, she turns around and wraps her arms around his waist before she loses the nerve. He holds her tightly for a moment before letting her go.

“Be safe, Jaime.”

He gives her a crooked smile. She walks out of the Dreamfyre Inn and back into her life.

—

She takes a train back to Oldtown at the end of the week. The rest of her stay at Golden Tooth had been spent wandering around the city and taking long walks in the lavender meadows at night. She does not see Jaime again, but she had an inkling that he had gone back to work.

Graduation went by in a haze. Sansa managed to at least act as excited as her peers. They had all just finished a grueling journey, and a handful of them had already scored internships at different firms all over Westeros and even in Essos and Braavos. 

She herself had just gotten the rest of the payment for her freelance work which meant that she was in no rush to look for a job.

After the ceremony, she wanders around the field watching friends and family doing little photoshoots. She wishes Arya or Jon could be with her now, but they were busy with their own work. And she had not exactly told them about the hefty sum now sitting in her newly opened accounts. They agreed on a celebration once she got home anyway.

When she spots her mentor sitting by the small birdbath near the entrance to the Citadel, Sansa walks towards him.

“Professor,” she greets, taking a seat beside him.

“So how was the job?” He was crushing some stale bread crusts. 

“Fine,” Sansa says, trying not to burst into details. She knew he would probably not want to hear it. “Certainly was a learning experience.”

“You went into the field, didn’t you?”

Her face takes on the expression of a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He just gives her a knowing look.

“They were short one member,” she says. “And I designed the layouts anyway.”

“Any plans to get back into it?” 

She looks ahead and does not answer. He already knows her well enough.

Reed sighs.

“Be careful, Miss Stark,” he implores. “You’re brilliant, and you’ve got a bright future ahead, but there are people in this line of work—”

“I know,” Sansa says. 

“I can’t stop you,” he says, sprinkling some crumbs on the ground before him. “And the chance to create again will always be too tempting to pass up this early on.”

Sansa smiles wistfully. She really does miss it. Craves it even on some days.

“I’m not worried about you losing yourself,” he continues. “You’re much too prudent for that to happen. But do keep your guard up.”

She nods, touched by his concern.

“And try to keep a few friends close. Rhaenys is always a good ally to have.”

_ And Jaime _ , Sansa thinks, but she holds her tongue.

“Thank you,” she tells him, feeling her throat tighten. “The job was just—it taught me so much. And the money I earned—just, thank you.“

“You were the best one for it,” he says coolly. “Where are you off to now?”

“Home first,” she says happily. She does miss her family. “Might start looking for some work there just to get myself started again.” 

“The Northern firms would all be fools not to take you in,” her mentor says fondly. 

Sansa stands and pats her dress down. 

“Take care, Sansa,” Professor Reed bid, extending his hand towards her. “And if you need help, you know how to reach me.” 

She grasps his hand tightly. This man had taken her under his wing and had guided her throughout her stay at the Citadel. He may not have a high-profile presence or be as well-known as many of the Citadel’s professors, but he was kind and attentive. He knew very well how to foster the best growth in students.

“Thank you, Professor Reed,” she says warmly, “for everything.”

—

Sansa flies back to Winterfell the day after graduation. She had no reason to linger in Oldtown. She had already moved out of her small apartment during the last week of her stay, and most of her things have already been shipped up North.

Arya and Jon welcome her home with a hearty dinner and lemon cakes from Old Nan’s, her favorite bakery in Winter Town. Arya had decorated their flat with some fairy lights while Jon laid out a vase with fresh winter roses. 

It may have been small with simple fare, but it was the best celebration she could ever ask for.

“So where are you applying,” Arya asks, her mouth still full of lemon cake. “Thought you said the Wall Execs made an offer?”

“Yeah, are you going after that?” Jon was refilling their cups with champagne. “And what was the freelance job you took on anyway? Get anything out of it?”

Sansa almost laughs out loud. 

“It was a lot of consulting work,” she says. She prepared for this. “And yeah, it paid pretty well.”

Arya snorts. 

“It was a freelance job, and you were a fresh grad,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Was the money enough for at least a month’s rent?” 

“Well, for starters, I’ve already paid off both our student loans,” Sansa reveals, her amusement growing as Arya’s jaw drops, and Jon almost falls out of his chair.

“Wha—“

She holds up a hand.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of paying off the rest of your woodshop’s debt,” she tells Arya who was still staring at her in utter disbelief. 

Sansa turns to Jon as Arya whips out her phone.

“And I’ve called Cassel for your gym renovations. He says he can do the showers, the heating, and the roof repairs,” she tells him, practically giddy at this point as she watches his eyes bulge out. “We can call Umber and Ryder for equipment upgrades tomorrow.”

“Sansa, what in seven hells,” Arya sputters, “I just got the email! Bloody—” 

“Sans, you can’t be serious,” Jon says in a very worried voice, “you just can’t leave nothing for yourself!”

Sansa laughs and takes a sip of champagne.

“The job paid pretty well,” she says soothingly. “I can even put in a year’s worth of down payments for two new apartments. Three if we decide to let this one go. That way, we can actually live our own lives and have more personal space, for once.”

“What the bloody hell was this freelance thing?” 

Arya is still in shock. Jon has brought out his special reserve of scotch. 

“Consulting for a new green space project,” Sansa says with a shrug. “Client was filthy rich, and I had to get it done in a short time, so yeah.” 

She left out the whole corporate espionage and sabotage and the truth about Baelish. She knew they would be better off not knowing. Let this be her secret to bear into her grave. Her siblings have suffered enough.

“Was it really?” Arya narrows her eyes. “You flew to Volantis and to Lannisport for consulting?” 

“They wanted me on site,” she says. Probably the first truth she told that night.

“Sansa,” Jon starts, going into what she and Arya have fondly termed “Ned-mode.”

“Listen, we won’t be worrying about money for a while,” she says. “Let me do this, so we all can actually be better off, alright?” 

Arya and Jon go quiet for a bit. Sansa just waits for either one to start making a fuss out of the situation again. She knew how stubborn they both were. 

Her sister is the first to break the contemplative silence. She gets up and wraps her arms around Sansa, squeezing as tightly as she can. Jon joins in, and they stay in their little group hug for quite some time.

“Call Ryder and Umber tomorrow and ask for whatever you need,” Sansa tells Jon. “Send the invoice to me.”

He sighs and gives her a nod.

“Thank you, Sans,” he whispers gratefully as he gives her one more hug. 

Arya yawns.

“Off to bed, you too,” Jon orders, back in Ned-mode. “I’ll clean up and take out the trash.” 

—

Nightmares still popped in every now and then. Sansa has started taking sleeping pills. They help for a little while.

It gets worse when she moves into her own place. Insomnia kicks in. She spends hours just staring at the ceiling. She would be lucky to catch three straight hours of sleep in one night, and on most days, she wakes, gasping from being pushed off an icy wall.

She misses it. She yearns for the power of creating that she holds in a dream. It was everything she ever aspired to do and more. There were no limits to what she could build.

After three weeks of settling back home, she applies to the local Manderly firm. Some work would be good for her. It might even help her sleep at night.

Wyman Manderly welcomes her, telling her that he has been looking for young minds with fresh insights and ideas. Old and traditional worked, but he wanted someone with new perspectives on board. He assigns her to a new project that would be based on grounds close to the White Knife. It was a factory and a warehouse that the client needed. Something that could withstand the freezing temperatures of winter in the North. 

Sansa accepts, glad for something to put her mind to. Too much free time was never good for anyone.

She walks into Wyman’s office the next day and feels her heart drop to her feet. 

Petyr Baelish sits across him, going over the contract for the job.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always fun to find ways to somehow parallel or translate the tragedy and rise of the Starks to AU stories. Comments are always appreciated and welcome!


	12. The Shadow

She goes away inside. It was all she did during the first two years after the tragedy that snatched away most of her family. It feels like a reflex at this point.

Sansa watches the scene unfold from the door. She plasters a professional smile on her face as she sits across from her new boss and the client. Manderly introduces her as the project’s architect. She exchanges pleasantries with Mr. Baelish and dutifully takes notes of what was expected of her designs during the meeting.

A schedule is mapped out. She has the first drafts due in a week. 

“I think a month. What do you say, Mr. Manderly?” 

Baelish’s voice was starting to get to her. 

“Sansa?” Wyman Manderly turns to her, an expecting smile on his face.

“Of course, sir,” she says smoothly, writing down the date. “We can definitely get the final plans drawn by then, just in time for construction to start.” 

Baelish gives her a smile that makes her wither with disqus. 

“Excellent,” he says. “Lady Olenna will be very pleased. She’ll be paying a bonus commission for timely work” 

This brings a bright grin onto Wyman’s face. He dismisses Sansa quickly after that, giving her the rest of the day to get started on the plans. 

Sansa does not miss the way Baelish’s eyes linger. There was a sinister air about the man. He was as deceitful as he was cunning—a dangerous combination for someone as powerful and as monstrous as him. 

Sansa quickly packs her supplies after the meeting, informing one of Wyman’s sons that she would prefer drawing up the plans back in her own apartment. Her next progress report was still in three days, and she had her heart set on having as little contact with Baelish as possible. She was already combing through the schedule in her head, pacing her work carefully to do just that. 

She gets to look at more details of the project once she gets home and starts reading the proposal given to her earlier in the day. It seems as if the gods had decided to mock her once again.

The factory and warehouses she was tasked with designing was for the production of wind turbines. Notes on the machinery and the set up were all given to her so she could best draw up plans for the building’s structure. The Tyrells were setting up a new wind farm in an empty lot near White Harbor. 

This was supposed to be under her family’s name. Her father had planned to expand further in the North to aid the more rural areas. 

Petyr Baelish. Olenna Tyrell. Children murdered all for the sake of an expansion.

Now here she was, drawing up the drafts for what they needed to be built on-site. Sansa grits her teeth, trying to breathe. 

_ Olenna is dying. He’ll get what’s coming for him. _

Sansa focuses. She works as fast as she can without sacrificing quality. This was still going to be under her name, and she cannot have a man like him smearing her reputation. 

It was just a warehouse and a factory. For wind turbines for a wind farm. Work that she should have been doing for the family company right now. The company that had been broken down and stolen by the very man she was currently working for.

_ No big deal _ , Sansa thinks as she finishes the rough sketches. 

She can lock it up for now. There would be time to break down after all this is over. 

—

Instead of lying in bed, waiting, and failing to fall asleep, Sansa works into the early hours of the morning. Exhaustion turns out to be more effective than sleeping pills, and she falls asleep only minutes after her eyes close.

But the nightmares do not stop. She gets three hours of sleep at most. Four if she tires herself out much more than usual. 

The voice of her killer takes a face. Low and scratchy, dripping with malice and trickery. Baelish. His voice was venom—a blistering toxin that dripped into her veins, knocking her down onto her knees and rendering her helpless. His touch was ice so cold that it scorches her skin. Her screams die as his hand wraps around her throat, and a knife is shoved right through her eye. 

Sometimes, he chooses to stab her through the heart or slit her throat to the bone. On occasion, he pushes her off an icy ledge. It’s always him standing in the end, watching her die as her parents did.

Sansa wakes up always gasping for air. Trying to go back to sleep never worked. She sketches instead—monuments and grand cities that would never be possible in the real world. She sketches for worlds she could build in dreams. 

It helped a bit, taking her mind off things. 

She begins to feel the insomnia and the nightmares take their toll. On some days, her mind would feel so sluggish that she took hours to complete a simple task or finish a part of her project. 

Caffeine becomes her constant aid. Coffee in the morning then an energy drink or two in the afternoon. 

The nights brought terrors and little rest. 

The one thing that kept her going was the constant thought that it would be over in a month. She was never one to wish death on a person, but he might be an exception. Or Olenna Tyrell. The woman clung to life stubbornly, and the wait for Margaery Tyrell’s takeover has been weighing her down. 

But she makes it. Sansa Stark is nothing if not determined.

By the end of the week, her first drafts were presented and received very well, much to Manderly’s delight. Baelish and the rest of his team who he brought were all thoroughly impressed with her attention to detail and her structurally sound and functional but much more modern designs. 

“You should come down South, Miss Stark,” Baelish says to her, making her shrivel up inside. “Talent like yours would be coveted, and you would be earning double of what you make here in three months.”

Sansa smiles weakly.

“She’s only just started out, Mr. Baelish,” Wyman says in his booming voice. “Let her do it at her own pace.”

“Why not jump into it right away?” Baelish was persistent. “In fact, I have half a mind to recommend you to some partners of mine as well.”

“Mr. Manderly is right,” Sansa says softly, giving him a timid smile. “I think I’d like to gain more experience here first before stepping out. I’ve just gotten home too after two years at Oldtown.”

“Are these all your concerns then, Mr Baelish?” Wyman asks, diverting the discussion back to the plans. He types up the last of the notes on his pad. 

“For now,” their client answers, eyes still on the architect. “We’ll need to see how they work when incorporated into the whole structure.”

“Sir, may I suggest weekly meetings?” Horras Redwyne was one of the Tyrell cousins sent to oversee the work on their new building grounds in the North. “With this first draft, we’re definitely on-track with the timetable Lady Olenna requested.”

“That would work,” Baelish says. “Miss Stark, will that be possible to get this done with such a compressed schedule? If we spot any more problems, we may have to meet more frequently as our target date approaches.”

Sansa is already thinking about a set of edits he had on the heating system for the factory.

“Of course, sir,” she says in the most unaffected voice she can muster. “I’ll have these edits in place by next week, and we can see how it all works out and if there are any more holes to patch up.”

“Everyone in agreement?” Wyman asks, compiling the final notes on a document file for Sansa.

“Yes, I think we’re through for the day,” Baelish nods. He and his team say their thanks and take their leave.

“Sansa, the notes have been emailed to you.” Manderly has a big smile on his face. Hiring Sansa Stark may have been his best decision in years.

“Thank you, Mr. Manderly,” Sansa says with a smile. “I’ll get them done by next Thursday. We can go through it then to make sure everything’s ready for Friday’s meeting.”

“My door’s open if you need anything or if you get stuck on those new notes for the plans,” he tells her. 

He knew she liked working at home. She came into the office in the mornings to update him on her progress and report any issues she might need help with, but Sansa was really quite capable by herself. 

She gives him a grateful smile before she makes her way back to her small cubicle to pack up her things. It was late afternoon already, and she felt her stomach grumble. She brings out her phone and texts Jon.

_ Dinner? _

_ Yeah, I’m free. Pip’s on the night shift today _

_ Glover’s Kitchen? I need a steak. _

_ Be there in twenty _

_ Pick up Arya? _

_ Yup, her shop’s on the way _

_ I’ll text her _

_ If you get there before us, order a spinach dip _

With a family dinner to look forward to, her mood perks up. She buried herself in her work last week, getting those first drafts as perfect as possible. She deserved a night off. 

When she walks out of the office, the icy winds cut through her skin. She feels the cold seep into her flesh. Winter was almost here.

“Miss Stark.”

Sansa freezes for only a second before turning to face the owner of the grating voice.

“I wondered if you might have time tonight,” Baelish says as he walks towards her. “I’d like to discuss a business proposal. And a job offer.”

He has a knowing look—one that was subtly arrogant—an established businessman offering to grant a budding architect a boon. 

Sansa wants to claw his eyes out and watch him bleed. 

“Mr. Baelish—“ 

“Over dinner?” He gestures to a waiting car.

“I’m sorry, but I have to decline. I’m having dinner with my family.”

“Surely you can reschedule that,” he says, waving her excuse away. “What I can help you achieve with those talents would change your life.”

Sansa tries to look the least bit apologetic. She shakes her head.

“We try not to miss our little reunions. A pact we made since our parents died.” Sansa is proud of how steady her voice sounds even if she could feel her heart pounding as she dared to mention them.

Baelish looks unconcerned. 

“I’m running late,” Sansa says before he started again. “Good night, Mr. Baelish.”

She walks towards the train station without bothering to wait for his reply. 

_ Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Head high, chin up. _

She chants this in her head until she gets onto the platform. Only then does she turn around slowly.

Citizens of Winter Town were all around her, lining up. She does not see him. A small weight lifts off her chest, and she makes her way to Glover’s Kitchen.

—

Sansa has the weekend before she reports her progress to Wyman. She gets a headstart on the work required, drawing up a few plans with variations of the improvements and changes Baelish and his team asked for. If her boss approves, she could let them take their pick on Friday’s meeting. No harm in that, and it lessens the required meetings where she sees him. 

Wyman readily agrees with presenting the variation of plans she made. He notes that it would keep them on schedule, and that Baelish and his team could pick up different elements and match them as they see fit. 

Her work is done by Wednesday, with the final presentation already emailed to her boss. She has one free day that she spends cleaning her flat and organizing her things. 

She takes a trip to the grocery store alone, doing some shopping for her and her sister who was busy with a new commission. She ends up wanting to give herself a slap at not thinking to ask Arya to come with her in the first place.

She runs into him at the produce aisle while she was stocking up on some greens and fruits. 

“Miss Stark,” he greets, walking towards her. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

She spots his bodyguard hanging around nearby. 

“Mr. Baelish,” Sansa says coolly. 

“Well, have you considered my offer?” He was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to grovel and cry in gratitude at his generosity.

“I’ve only started working for Mr. Manderly, sir,” Sansa says, pushing her cart towards the self check-out counters. 

“And his firm is decent, no doubt, but think of all you could  _ do _ in the South. The Tyrells would pay handsomely if you were to design their new beach house.”

He follows her like the full-grown pest he is. She notices that he has bought nothing.

“Or even their new resort over at Lys. It would be a huge career boost for you, and you would be able to move out of this frozen countryside.”

Sansa is scanning and bagging her goods as fast as she can. Her bike was chained up outside, and it would only be a ten-minute ride to Arya’s place. She can shake him off.

“I’m just not interested right now, sir,” Sansa says, trying for a rueful tone. 

“I don’t know what Manderly’s promised you, but it simply will never match what you can be earning in the South.”

“It’s not about the money—”

“And your name would be acclaimed throughout the continent. Think, Sansa Stark, fresh out of grad school with two Tyrell projects in her portfolio! The press would be naming your careers as one of the most successful ones of your generation! Headlines of the best and most innovative architects under thirty—”

“It sounds like a dream,” Sansa admits. He looks immediately triumphant. 

“But the North is my home, and I really do want to establish myself here first,” she says as she swipes her card. 

“Miss Stark, this is an offer rarely made,” he starts, trying for a different angle. 

“I know, sir,” Sansa says as she picks up her bags and starts walking towards the exit. 

“It would be an absolute shame if it were to go to someone else,” Baelish says as he walks with her to her bike. “Your immense talent is just too wasted up here.” 

Sansa loads her groceries into the basket. She covers them with a waterproof cloth and securely ties them down.

“I’m truly flattered,” Sansa says, mounting her bike, “but it’s just not what I want to do right now.”

Baelish touches her arm, and she feels her skin crawl beneath the layers she wears.

“I’ll have you saying yes by the end of this month,” he says, his mouth turning up sharply. 

“Have a good night, sir,” Sansa says before dashing off. 

After she drops off Arya’s groceries, she was going to take a long, hot shower. 

—

Friday’s meeting goes better than the last. Redwyne requests a few more changes, choosing from the variation of designs Sansa has laid out. Baelish places notes for minor improvements. Manderly is very pleased with how smoothly things are running.

“I think this would be the last set of revisions.” Redwyne was typing up a progress report. “Oh, that means we can definitely push through with the groundbreaking ceremony as planned! Lady Olenna will be thrilled.”

“Your firm has been an excellent choice for this project, Mr. Manderly,” Baelish says, “your architect more so.”

Sansa wants to roll her eyes, but she keeps up her mask of courtesy.

“She probably is the most talented candidate to have applied here in awhile,” Wyman chuckles. “We’re very lucky she chose to work somewhere close to home.”

“Indeed,” Baelish says, his eyes boring into her. 

“Well, that concludes our meeting then,” Redwyne states in a matter-of-fact voice. “Can we ask for the final revisions to be sent a day earlier? So we can review them before our meeting next week?”

“Sansa?” Wyman asks, “I don’t want to rush you any further, the schedule you’ve been working with has been tight enough—”

“It’s alright, Mr. Manderly,” Sansa says with a smile, touched that he actually did care. “I’ll have them done by Thursday.”

“Excellent!” With that, Redwyne gives a nod and takes his leave.

Baelish trailed after him slowly, obviously ready for another attempt at poaching Sansa from the Manderly firm. But Sansa came prepared this time.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_ I’m outside _

_ Can we drop by the pharmacy _

_ I need floss and advil _

_ and condoms _

_ Things working out with Gendry then _

_ yeah, we can _

_ how long has your dry spell held _

_ Sans, u need to live a little _

_ That is none of your business _

_ be out in a minute _

_ just gotta grab my stuff _

_ oh my gods, it’s still ongoing  _

_ isn’t it _

_oh hush_

_ on my way out _

Sansa rolls her eyes as she pockets her phone. She slips her coat on and adjusts her scarf before walking into the icy winds that were getting colder by the day.

As she expected, Baelish lingered again. She pretends not to notice him when he starts approaching her. 

“Took you long enough!”

Arya was standing right outside the doors, exactly as Sansa instructed.

“Oh stop being dramatic,” Sansa says with a half-smile. “Come on, I’m getting hungry, and I’ve still got to cook dinner.”

“Miss Stark.”

Both Stark sisters turn towards their seedy intruder.

“It’s not polite to keep holding out on such a generous offer,” Baelish says in a tone too similar to that used by parents when they admonish their children for misbehaving. 

“I already said I’m not interested at the moment, sir,” Sansa says, a hint of irritation seeping into her voice.

“Miss Stark, you don’t understand—”

“She said no, now piss off,” Arya butts in.

Baelish’s eyes widen for a split-second before he smooths his expression into an unfazed one. 

“I believe we haven’t been introduced, Miss—?” he asks, holding out his hand.

“No one,” Arya deadpans as she grasps her sister’s arm and starts tugging her towards the train station. 

Sansa lets herself be dragged along. They don’t speak until they make it onto the surprisingly empty train carriage.

“Seven hells, he’s worse than you described.” Arya was torn between worry and irritation. “How long have you got left working for that creep?”

“Two weeks,” Sansa sighs, her head leaning back against the window. “Just two more weeks, and I’ll be free when he goes back to serving the Tyrells down South.”

“You got another meeting next week?” Arya asks as she pulls her phone out.

“Yeah, should be the last one. Can you come pick me up again?”

Arya scrolls through her calendar.

“Damn it, I’ve got a meeting for a commission,” she mutters. “Jon should be free to pick you up.”

“I love you both,” Sansa replies, her eyes closed.

“Still need me to go to the grocery with you on Tuesday?”

“Yes, please.”

—

Sansa knows that it was not a coincidence that she runs into Baelish on literally every trip she took out of her flat. 

The grocery. The cafe. The park.

Lucky for her, she had planned her errands and excursions. Either Arya or Jon was always with her, and they were very good at shooing away the unwanted shadow she had gained. 

Oh, he tried. He was inviting and open, doing his best to warm up to her siblings, but they never budged. Jon, in particular, looked ready to start a fight when he told him to get lost. 

He and Arya always dropped her home at her doorstep. 

By Thursday, Sansa had sent in the final drafts, already cross-checked by Wyman. The Tyrell representatives had been satisfied.

The last meeting she had to attend was spent presenting the plans to Lady Olenna over the internet. The woman looked quite gaunt, but her eyes betrayed the sharpness of her mind.

Redwyne breathed out a sigh of relief when she nodded in approval. Apparently, that was code for high praise when it came to Olenna Tyrell.

“Our contractors are all set for the groundbreaking ceremony next week,” Redwyne says happily. “You should come, Mr. Manderly! A small feast will be held!”

“Oh, I would love to!” Wyman exclaims. 

“Miss Stark is invited as well,” Baelish says with a small smile at Sansa’s direction. “You both should see the fruits of your labor come to life, at least.”

Sansa wants to smash her glass of water into his face.

“Oh that would be wonderful!” Wyman says, turning to face the architect. “Isn’t this exciting? Your  _ first _ project and you get to see the beginnings!” 

Sansa smiles nervously.

“It’s only one night, anyway,” Redwyne says. “You can take a train back to Winter Town in the morning.”

Sansa hears her voice echoing softly. 

“Of course, sir, I’d be honored.”

She feels her skin burn and wither at the look Baelish gives her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me. Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


	13. The Offer

“Call every hour at the party, alright?”

“Until you get to your room.”

“And the next morning.”

“On the train.”

“Text me nonsense if you need to.”

Sansa pinches the bridge of her nose. Arya and Jon had come to see her off before she left for White Harbor. 

“I’ve half a mind to call in and say I’ve got a stomach bug, but he’ll probably find a way to get me there,” Sansa grumbles as she zips up her overnight bag.

“He’s sick,” Arya says with disgust. “Obsessed with you by the looks of it.”

“You’re not saying yes to whatever glorious offer he’s been dangling at you, are you?” Jon asks. 

“ _ No _ !” Sansa vehemently says, her voice rising. “After this stupid party, I’m leaving first thing in the morning, and I’ll never have to see him again.”

“Good,” Arya says. “Something about him isn’t right. I can just feel it.”

She slips into her mask with practiced ease. The truth about Baelish dies with her. Her sister and her cousin would be hellbent on getting him to face justice—revenge otherwise—but he had layers of power that padded and afforded much protection around him. 

“You got your pepper spray?” Jon was running through a mental checklist in his head. “One wrong move from him and you go lock yourself in your room, alright? Call us, and we’ll come get you.”

“Right here.” Sansa waves the small bottle around before slipping it into her purse. 

“Good. Aim for the eyes.” 

Sansa’s phone buzzes. 

“It’s Manderly,” she says, reading the text. “He says the service car is on the way to the firm.”

“Will Baelish be riding with you?” Arya sounded alarmed.

“No, he got on site yesterday with the Tyrell reps,” Sansa mutters. “There’s that at least.”

“I could take a train to White Harbor and be at the station by tomorrow morning if you’d like.” Arya looked like she was about to tag along just to keep an eye out for her sister and ward off the client. “That way you don’t have to worry about him ‘coincidentally bumping into you’ again.” 

Sansa exhales, a small nervous laugh escaping her. 

“I appreciate you,” she says, throwing her arm around her younger sister, “but there will be no need for that.” 

Her bag was ready. The Starks all grab their coats, and Arya and Jon walk Sansa to the Manderly office. They leave her with a last round of fussing, telling her a thousand times that they were only one phone call away.

Sansa’s heart swells a little. 

She meets Wyman in his office, already rolling up the final plans for delivery to the Tyrell group. The service car arrives promptly, and they make their way to the site by White Harbor. 

—

The shared ride with her boss was actually quite pleasant and helped put her at ease. Wyman was curious about what the program was like in the Citadel, and he never tried to pry into her personal life. He was from the North, after all, and everyone knew of the tragedy of the Starks. 

They get to the site just before the groundbreaking ceremony. Sansa holds in a sigh as she spots the devil amongst the welcoming party. 

“Mister Manderly, Miss Stark,” he greets them warmly, though his tone sends needles down her spine and makes her want to flinch. “You’re right on time.”

He and Redwyne lead them to a marked area where a small crowd and drilling machine were already waiting. It was one of the places marked for digging to set up the foundation of the factory. There was a small makeshift podium set up with a microphone on the stand. Two speakers were set up.

Redwyne leads them to stand by the sidelines. Sansa hangs back, trying to stick to Wyman as she actually worked for him and was just assigned to this project. She spots a few press members, cameras at the ready. 

“Good evening, everyone!”

Baelish stands at the podium, and the crowd’s attention turns to him. 

“Welcome to the new site of the Tyrell Wind Farm!”

A small applause arises. 

“It took a lot of hard work over the years to establish ourselves in the North, ” Baelish was smiling down at the crowd, but Sansa saw the sneer hidden beneath. “There were many challenges to overcome, but Lady Olenna and I persevered.”

Sansa feels sick at his opening statement.

“We would like to thank the Manderly firm for their incredible work and assistance,” he continues, his hand outstretched, palm up, acknowledging the man. “Mr. Wyman Manderly, none of this would have been possible without your dedication to rise to the challenge.”

Wyman smiles brightly and gives a wave.

“And of course, the brilliant architect he assigned to the job, Miss Sansa Stark,” Baelish says as he looks at her. Sansa shivers involuntarily.

“Miss Stark’s work, as you all have seen by now, was just exemplary,” he says, gesturing to the plans that were plastered around the area, “as you all have seen by now, and she delivered with such excellence and fantastic quality under such a rushed schedule.” 

Sansa has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She smiles and nods instead, thinking of how best she can excuse herself from the party early and just stay in her room. 

“To each investor and partner who graced us with their presence, you have my word that it will all be worth it.” Baelish steps down from the podium, and one of the men hands him a shovel.

“To the future of clean energy!” he cries before digging up a shovelful of dirt. 

The crowd now breaks into a louder applause, and some cheers and whistling could be heard. This time, Sansa’s eyes roll back. She can’t help it. Their clean energy advocacy covering up the filth and bloody methods beneath was ironic.

“If everyone could make their way to the reception at the White Harbor Hotel,” Redwyne announces, “a grand tent has been set up for us to keep the cold out!”

Sansa walks back with Wyman to their service car, fervently muttering silent pleas to the gods that the devil won’t be riding with them. They answer, for once in her life. 

“Oh, Sansa, isn’t this exciting?” Wyman looked thrilled at the prospect of meeting and gaining new clients. New  _ rich _ clients from the South. “A whole evening just meeting such successful entrepreneurs and businessmen, and maybe even architects!” 

“It’s certainly something, sir,” Sansa says politely, looking out the window. 

While her boss busies himself with running through the guest list that Redwyne had sent over, Sansa takes the time to steel herself for what was probably going to be an evening of her playing cat and mouse with that predatory bastard.

She’d stay at least half an hour after the dinner. Then she would lock herself in her room and bar the door just for extra precaution. 

The Tyrell group really knew how to butter up their investors. The dinner party was lavish, the food imported from the South—there were lobsters poached in butter, thick steaks grilled to perfection and the creamiest potatoes, fresh greens and capers, and a whole assortment of cakes and panna cottas. Glasses were never lacking of wine or champagne. 

Videos of the Tyrell Empire and its projects and accomplishments were played throughout the meal. Sansa just sighs. Once upon a time, the dreamer in her would have found this to be one of the greatest heights of her fresh career. The people here would have been her constant circle—rich socialites who never truly did any of the work. She would have snatched up Baelish’s offer immediately if it meant a shot at making a name for herself down South. 

But she knew the truth about him. And the whole Tyrell Empire just felt too focused on expanding itself, wiping out any competitor in their way. There truly was nothing for her there. 

_ And the dreams _ . Sansa sighs wistfully. Oh, how she longed for another chance at it. Nothing would ever compare. Nothing at all. 

The party moves on to the part of the night where guests have begun mingling about the cocktail tables, nibbling on an assortment of dried fruit and nuts as they sipped their drinks gayly and chattered about. 

She spots her boss jovially talking to guests, introducing himself and making connections for the firm. Sansa has to laugh at his ignorance to this sort of crowd even after decades in the business, but she understood. Staying too cooped up in the North does that to many.

“Miss Stark.” 

Her blood turns to ice as her night terrors flash through her eyes. His voice chilled and brittled her bones, shattering her with new waves of rage and grief.

She turns to him, a cool expression on her face. Her grip on her bottle of water tightens.

“Mr. Baelish, good evening.”

She notices a few people standing by. They were watching her curiously. Some were giving her the head-to-toe look, critically eyeing her entire outfit. 

“You looked unoccupied at the moment, so I thought to take the liberty of bringing over some guests who would love to meet you,” he says, his mouth curling into a half-smile. 

Sansa slips into her professional façade.

“Of course, sir.”

She almost flinches when she feels his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the guests. His hands were stained with the blood of her family. She wants to cut them off and throw them in a fire—make him watch as they burned. 

“Everyone,” Baelish says with a pompous air, “this is Sansa Stark—the architect for this project.”

Sansa smiles, but her eyes are dim and cold.

“Elys Waynwood,” the man in the navy blue suit introduces himself warmly, “and this is my wife Alys. We work for the Eyrie.”

“I must say, Miss Stark, that you’ve done a marvelous job on the factory design in such a short time.” Alys’ eyes were sparkling. “If your schedule permits, we would love to have you on the team for the rebuilding of one of the towers of the Eyrie.”

Sansa’s face takes on a look of surprise. She hopes it was enough to fool them. She already had an inkling of what Baelish was planning. After all, he spent the past month practically forcing her acceptance of his offer.

“I—I’m really truly honored, but—”

“If you’re looking to work in the greatest city of Westeros, even places in the East like Lys or Essos, my company would love to have you on board for our new resorts expansion.”

Sansa’s gaze shifts to the elderly woman in a deep red gown. She reminds her of someone. Someone she just cannot place yet.

“Rhaella Targaryen,” the woman says, her lilac eyes never leaving Sansa’s. “I have two sites already purchased, and we will be expanding. An architect of your caliber would be the perfect choice.”

Rhaenys’ grandmother. She was certainly intimidating, and Sansa could see where Rhaenys’ steel came from. This woman survived being married to a madman, shook off the scandal, and came out more successful than ever with her new Targaryen Resorts she put up on an island near the shores of Dragonstone. Rhaenys told her about it over lunch during her training days.

“Oh, oh, that means so much to me—”

“And what if the Tyrell Empire offered you a permanent contract as our head architect who will be overseeing our expansion in the North and the East?” 

Petyr Baelish looked smug, as if he had just pulled out a golden ticket. Sansa  _ hates _ him. 

“Imagine, Miss Stark, you would be leading your own team and overseeing the building of such wondrous structures and entities that would be of great benefit and help to the  _ world _ .”

All four of them were staring at her now, waiting for her answer.

“I am honored, really, and truly humbled by your faith in my abilities.” Sansa is proud at how steady her voice sounds. “But I’m afraid I would have to decline for now.”

The Arryn representatives looked aghast. 

“Miss Stark, it would mean leaving this cold wasteland—”

“I’ve just gotten home after two years in Oldtown,” Sansa continues, standing by her decision. “And I have my heart set on settling back in the North for a bit first before venturing elsewhere to look for work.”

Rhaella looks puzzled but even more interested. She was watching the auburn-haired architect keenly. 

“Your offers have all been beyond generous, but I’m afraid none of them are in my best interests as of the moment.”

“Miss Stark, working with the Tyrell group would mean you still get to work in the North—”

Sansa cuts him off without a second thought.

“My answer is still no, sir.” Sansa holds his gaze. She can sense the gears of his mind turning behind his beady black eyes. She was certain that he would be coming up with something until she gave in.

“I am very grateful for your kindness and consideration,” Sansa says, looking around the small group of investors. “Good evening.”

She gives the group one last smile before heading for the exit. The doorman takes her ticket and fetches her coat for her. Sansa’s smile reaches her eyes this time as she tips him and bids him a good night.

The icy winds of winter swirling around White Harbor hit her as soon as she stepped out of the grand tent, making her grateful that she chose her classic black jumpsuit for the formal evening. Sansa walks back towards the hotel, her eyes glancing around her every now and then. She only dares look back once she reaches the double doors. 

No one followed.

The relief is short-lived. Once inside, Sansa hurries towards the lift, glancing around her surroundings furtively for him. 

She knows it was only a matter of time he showed up again. 

_ Seven hells, he might even come looking for me in my room _ , she thinks as the doors of the lift close. 

Once she is safely ensconced in her hotel room, she locks the door and slides the chain lock in place. She drags a chair and wedges it under the door knob, just for extra safety measures.

Sansa takes a moment to just breathe. The evening was over, and all she had to do now was keep the door locked and ignore him if he did attempt to follow her here. She would call room service for security if she needed to. After this night, she would rush home before all of them.

The project was done, and she vowed that she would never accept another job that entailed working with Baelish again.

Sansa opens the taps for the tub. She sheds her clothes and jumps into the shower, scrubbing herself clean, while waiting for the tub to fill up. When the water rises to just the right level, she drops in some of the complimentary rose oil that came with the toiletry set. 

A long hot soak helps settle her mind, but the fear in her heart lingered. 

After texting the last update of the night to Arya and Jon, Sansa plops back onto the pillows and tries to sleep.

She should have known that she would not be getting any. Every footstep and little creak she hears spikes up her adrenaline and puts her right back on the edge. She realizes she has been lying in bed for hours again when her phone buzzes with some update from a shopping app. 

The numbers are bright red, and it feels like they are mocking her. The time reads 3:52.

Sansa sighs. She sits up and pushes off the covers.

_ Might as well pack up now _ , she thinks.

Sansa dresses warmly, putting on a worn pale green sweater over her shirt. She packs her overnight bag, doing one last room check to see if she left anything behind. 

When she opens the door, she peeps around the corridor. Empty.

This gives her a burst of energy. Sansa briskly walks to the lifts, making her way to the front desk to check out.

The woman at the desk was an early-morning person, and she cheerfully assisted Sansa and made sure her note to Wyman Manderly would be delivered. She even called her a cab to take her to the station

“It’s too cold to walk in this time of the morning, sweetling,” the woman tuts. “Sit for a bit, your cab will be here in just a few minutes.”

Sansa thanks her warmly, and soon enough, she was on her way to the White Harbor Station with no creepy client on her tails.

Most of the people at the train station this early were fisherfolk and the crab divers. She sees some of the folks from beyond the Wall loitering around, trying to figure out how to get to Torrhen’s Square for their next destination. She books herself a ticket for the earliest ride back to Winter Town.

Lucky for her, the train was already pulled into the station and was just waiting for the departure time. Sansa makes her way to the free-seating car—it was the cheapest seat, and she still wasn’t used to spending any more than she needed to.

She browses the seats, looking for the most isolated one. A few families had taken up most of the first half of the seats. Children were already up and about, chattering excitedly about their day trip. The adults were trying to keep them quiet at least.

As she makes her way to the back, a flash of gold on the right catches her eye.

She finds herself staring at the forger, calmly staring at the world covered in winter outside the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome and appreciated. Happy valentines!


	14. The Lull

Sansa is still staring, mouth slightly ajar, when he shifts his attention from the white plains of never ending snow outside to the scene inside the train car. 

Jaime smirks as he catches her eyes, laughing softly at her expression.

“Do you want the window seat?”

Sansa shakes off her initial surprise.

“What?” She is trying to rack her brain for his reasons of being this far up in the North while ignoring and tampering down the giddiness that had suddenly bubbled up inside her.

“Window seat, Stark,” Jaime says patiently.

“Oh, yeah,” Sansa shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, please.”

Jaime slips out and lets her pass. Sansa stores her overnight bag in the overhead compartment next to what she assumes was his own luggage. She shuffles into the window seat and plops down. 

The relief settling into her bones felt like a sleeping drought. She was safe as long as he was here. If Baelish did follow her, she would have him to help out at least.

“What are you doing here?” Sansa has dropped into his most private dreams and memories once. She doesn't feel the need to keep up the professional courtesy as co-workers usually do.

“Small side job,” he answers with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Rhaenys got the news and called me since she would be too recognizable for it.”

“How big is your network anyway that you get news of a job from somewhere this remote?” Sansa wonders out loud, unconsciously drawing out her sketch pad. 

“We have our ways.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, flipping to a blank page.

“And you?”

She freezes for a moment. 

“Oh, uh, I got a job at the local firm. Just some on-site work,” she says with a shrug. 

The train departs as her hand begins to fly over a new sketch that had been floating in her head for days. 

Plans for the Winterfell Keep. Real plans that she could store and file away. Maybe even use them one day.

“Any refreshments for you, madame? Sir?” 

Sansa looks up, her pencil paused over the twisting branches of the weirwood tree. 

“Two coffees please, one black, one with two creams,” Jaime says with a smile, pulling out his wallet. 

“And a blueberry muffin for me, please,” Sansa requests, as the steward pours and prepares their drinks. She feels her stomach grumble. She had eaten little of the grand fare last night. Her stomach had been a raging sea filled with waves of fear. 

The steward nods as he hands them steaming cups of coffee. Jaime hands him a twenty-dollar bill and tells him to keep the change. The man smiles brightly in thanks and bids them good day before moving forward to serve the rowdy children. 

Sansa unwraps her muffin and takes a bite, sighing happily. She catches the forger eyeing her sketches as he sips his drink.

“Is that your family’s castle?” Jaime asks, eyes scanning the rough sketch curiously. 

Sansa swallows a bite of muffin. 

“Yeah,” she says in a small voice, “I’d been wanting to draw it for weeks, but my job was kind of on a tight schedule.”

Jaime says nothing yet, but his hand reaches towards her sketchpad. 

“May I?”

Sansa shrugs and pushes it towards him. He’s seen her break down anyway. No harm in showing him what she wanted to build if she got the chance to hook herself up to the PASIV again.

Jaime flips through her designs. His lips begin curling into a small smile as he takes everything in. Her sketches had one thing in common in that none could ever possibly be built with certain stability here in the real world—one of the most crucial foundations in architecture. 

“We haven’t ruined you yet, have we?” he asks, turning towards her. “You did just say you had an actual job.”

Sansa chuckles.

“No, not yet,” she says, flashing her totem at him. “It’s just something to help. Sort of scratch the itch.”

His face takes on a knowing look. He gets it—the high she’s been chasing.

“Miss it?” 

“More than anything,” Sansa sighs wistfully, reaching for her sketchpad. She tucks it back into her bag before finishing her muffin.

“What were you actually doing in White Harbor anyway?” Jaime asks, scrutinizing her face. “You look like you haven’t slept the whole night.

Sansa wonders if lying to him would actually work.

“The gala for the groundbreaking ceremony,” she mutters, picking at her muffin’s wrappings. “Tyrell’s new wind farm.”

His face smooths into a mask that she could not quite gauge.

“He—Baelish turned out to be the client for the project I got assigned to,” Sansa hurriedly continues before she loses the nerve. “My boss and I were invited, and I couldn’t just say no.”

The steward comes back to collect their trash. 

“Did he realize—”

“Probably,” Sansa says immediately. A man like Petyr Baelish kept track of everything, down to the smallest details. “But he never acted like he knew me or my family name. He’s even been trying to get me to sign onto their company for the past month.”

“I’d have thought the Tyrells would be providing car services for their guests at least,” Jaime says. His face was rigid, his voice quiet but with a sharp edge to it.

“They did,” Sansa acknowledges, “but I wanted to leave before everyone else. Less chances of having to see him again, or worse, share a car ride with him back home.”

“Did he do anything—”

“No!” Sansa feels her panic rising a little. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jaime soothes, raising both his hands. “You just seemed a little...distressed talking about him.

Sansa takes a deep breath. 

“He’s just—well, he’s sort of been stalking me for the past month, always with the same or a bigger job offer,” Sansa says, annoyed at how his small show of concern had her heart filling with sweet warmth. 

“And at the gala?”

“He did try to rope me in again,” she says, “introducing me to some big names but then topping all their offers in the end.”

Jaime waits for her to continue. 

“But saying no to him and to their circles of partners was the easiest thing in the world,” Sansa admits. 

“What happened after that?” 

“I said good night and locked myself in my room,” she shrugs. “Barricaded the door even, but I still couldn’t sleep. He didn’t try to follow at least.” 

“And you rushed to get on the first train back home at this ungodly hour?” 

Sansa nods as the last of her anxiety from last night seeps out. She suddenly feels very tired. 

Jaime squeezes her hand gently.

“You’re pure steel, Stark,” he says with a small smile. “Now get some sleep, we’ve got over three more hours before the stop at Winter Town.”

Sansa settles back and closes her eyes. She falls asleep in mere minutes. 

She wakes up to the scent of sea breeze and someone tapping on her wrist gently. The conductor was announcing the next stop—Winter Town—and that they were fifteen minutes away. 

Sansa realizes she shifted somewhere during her nap, deeming Jaime’s shoulder a worthy pillow. 

She sits up abruptly, furiously hoping she didn’t drool. 

“Sorry—sorry, I didn’t—why didn’t you wake—sorry, shit—I”

Jaime looked amused.

“You were tired,” he says, waving away her embarrassment. “Stop apologizing.”

Sansa spots a small circle on his shoulder that was darker than his deep green coat. She decides to pointedly ignore its existence.

She lets herself lean back against the headrest. 

“What are you doing in Winter Town?” 

She watches him closely, but his face gives nothing away. 

“Is it another job or are you just passing by?” she asks, wondering what other odd bits of work Rhaenys had passed onto him.

Jaime shakes his head. 

“Might stick around for a bit. See what’s up in the North and how she has such loyal and steadfast inhabitants.” 

Sansa successfully masks the beaming smile she feels trying to stretch her lips and facial muscles. 

They get off the train using the back entrance of the car. The kids upfront were already rowdy and yelling about their plans for the day. They reach the gates quickly enough and slip their tickets into the slot.

“Where are you staying anyway?”

Sansa adjusts her scarf, wondering if she’d actually get to see him while he was here.

“Wolfswood Inn,” Jaime says as he pulls out his phone. “A friend booked me a room for a few weeks.”

“Really, no jobs?” Sansa was asking more for herself, if she was being honest. 

Jaime cracks a half-smile, knowing exactly what she was trying to find out.

“Not right now,” he says, his smile growing at the deflated look on her face. 

“Oh.”

Sansa fiddles with the tassels of her scarf, trying to wipe the slightly bitter look off her face.

“Number.”

“What?” Sansa was still consoling her bruised spirit that had just been let down as she tried to make sense of his phone that he was holding out to her.

“If you’re up for it, we could grab dinner sometimes. I’d like to hear how the whole work experience with the Tyrell group went considering  _ our  _ little job.”

Sansa stares, still processing what was going on.

“But if you prefer not to—,” he says, beginning to draw his phone back.

Sansa snatches it out of his hand, types in her number, and saves it. Just to be safe.

“I might have a bit of downtime now. Just give me a call if you want a real Northerner to show you around,” she says cheekily, as she returns his phone.

Jaime chuckles softly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Sans!”

She sees Arya walking towards her, a large cup of coffee in her hand.

“Right, this is me,” Sansa says, waving her sister over. 

“I’ve got an old friend to meet anyway,” Jaime says as he checks his watch.

“See you around?” 

Jaime gives her a small nod before walking towards the line of cabs.

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back in one piece,” Arya says, giving her a hug.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Sansa says, holding onto her sister tightly. 

“Who was that?”

“What?”

Arya rolls her eyes and steps back.

“Tall blonde guy you were just with?” Arya raises a brow, daring her to play coy.

“Oh, he uh—” Sansa hopes the cold winds were enough to keep the flush off her cheeks. “We worked together on that freelance job I got.”

“And why was he with you?” 

“Bumped into him on the train?” She tries to look a bit clueless, but her sister has always been the one to see through her.

Arya rolls her eyes.

“What’s he doing here?” She gives Sansa a pointed look. “In the fucking frozen North in the middle of a winter that’s about to get even colder.” 

“Oh, he said he had a side job,” Sansa says truthfully. “Didn’t really tell me anything else.”

“A side job.”

“Yeah.”

Arya decides to drop it for now. 

“And the rat?”

“Eh,” Sansa says with a shrug as they walk towards the parking lot where Arya brought her motorbike. “Turned him down last night, for what hopefully was the final time, then locked myself in my room. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Good.” Arya takes her overnight bag and stuffs it into the seat compartment. “Gods, I hope he never comes back into town.”

Sansa sighs.

“As long as I don’t ever have to work for him again, it’ll be fine.”

— 

Four days. 

Sansa has definitely  _ not _ been keeping track. Neither was she on her phone more often, heart jumping at every buzz then sinking a little lower at the messages she receives. 

Arya. Jon. Wyman Manderly.

Her boss had been elated at making new partners at the Tyrell gala. He’d sent her a few files—those who were specifically requesting her to get on board their projects. Sansa sifts through them only half-paying attention. At least none of them had the Tyrell name on it. Most were the typical resorts project or some new factory here and there, displacing settlements and destroying vast and significant natural groves, rivers, and forests. 

Sansa rejects all of them. Wyman can’t exactly fire her. She  _ was _ the reason for the inflation of his firm’s reputation and the influx of projects and consultations. She instead feigns wanting a small break; she did just finish quite an enormous project on a very compact time frame. He looked despondent, but he let her have some time off. 

His clients were willing to be put on hold. No rush.

Sansa wants to quit her job at that, but she holds her tongue. 

Four days. It has been four days since White Harbor. Surprisingly, no Baelish. He has not tried to reach out to her in any manner, not even through the Manderly firm. 

Sansa finds it a little strange, but she decides not to question her stroke of luck. Boons like these were rare enough.

Her luck stopped there. Her own dreams, scarce as they were before, were now full-fledged terrors that had her gasping and sometimes screaming herself awake. Baelish was always a prominent feature. He might not be part of her reality now, but he lingered in her dreams, hounding her before taking her life. 

Nothing helps. Not even getting drunk. All she got out of that was a pounding headache alongside the nightmares. 

The exhaustion from the job only adds on to her lack of sleep. She gets three hours at most. After that, she sleeps lightly and uneasily. Nothing that was deeply restful and restoring

Her phone buzzes.

Sansa sighs, expecting an update from Wyman about some new client or Jon dragging her to dinner. 

_ Eastern Market’s at Torrhen’s Square this weekend _

The number was unknown, and Sansa is a bit too sleepy to even think. She still replies. 

_ who? _

_ head still building in dreams then _

She snaps wide awake, heart fluttering.

_ Well, I didn’t have  _ **_your_ ** _ number _

_ but yeah, why not _

_ I’ve got presents to buy _

_ No work? _

_ On a break _

_ Sort of _

_ Saturday afternoon? _

_ See you then _

Sansa agonizes at how slow the week seemed to pass. She had taken to doing the last of the paperwork for the Tyrell job, even helping out a little on other projects by offering much-appreciated inputs. Wyman dropped hints about the bigger offers every once in a while, but she pretended to be oblivious. Saturday was a bright spot ahead, and no one was ruining that for her.

They meet at the station at Torrhen’s Square. Sansa spots him first, leaning against a large post, one ungloved hand tapping away on his phone. He was wearing the same dark green coat she drooled on, a beige knit hat pulled down to protect his ears from the cold, and a worn plaid scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. 

Even under layers, he attracted stares from women and men alike. Sansa rolls her eyes as she weaves through the crowd of tourists. Of course he would, his face looked like it was sculpted by the Old Gods. 

Jaime looks up in her direction as she approaches.

_ Sixth sense from being in the business for so long, Sansa thinks. _

She gives him a small wave. He smiles warmly, tucking his phone back into his pocket, and slips his glove on.

“You look adorable,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He reaches to tossle the pom pom on top of her hat.

Sansa was in an old but trusty and incredibly warm light blue coat. She also wore a matching knit set—a deep blue scarf and hat—that Arya had gotten her a few winters ago, both of which had the cutest pattern of small fluffy dogs chasing after a snowball. 

Sansa smacks his arm away in greeting, annoyed but secretly glad for his teasing. The butterflies in her stomach have settled down, and her heartbeat has slowed.

_ Maybe I’ll survive this yet, she thinks. _

“Come on, I want to make it to the market before all the good stuff is taken,” she says, grabbing his elbow and pulling him towards the exit. He lets her lead.

The market was a five-minute walk from the station. This time of the year, locals and tourists flocked about, taking their pick or just dropping by to admire the goods from places too far and too expensive to visit unless you were part of Westeros’ rich and elite.

It was early in the afternoon, and most of the market goers were still grabbing lunch. Sansa makes a beeline for the clothes and jewelry stalls, dragging her amused companion around.

The Eastern Market was one of the small pockets of joy she cherished after the accident. Sansa would go with Arya or Jon every winter, but they would always split up and do their own thing. She loved her siblings but neither had any interest nor patience for her proclivity for shopping—particularly her mission of scoring unique finds for her wardrobe. She had always set aside a small sum to indulge herself once a year at the Eastern Market. Now that her budget had exponentially increased, Sansa was even more excited to hunt down lovely clothes, jewelry, and trinkets aside from the presents she needed to buy.

Jaime turns out to be much better company than Jon or Arya. He had an eye for picking things that really suited whoever was looking to buy. He actually gave sound opinions that helped her decide on her possible purchases. Anything he pulled out of a rack of clothes went from really cute to insanely gorgeous. He could pick up a piece of jewelry from an assortment in a bowl, hold it up to her, and it would turn out to be perfect for her. It was annoying.

“How are you so good at this?” Sansa asks, a bit of annoyance mixing with the incredulity in her voice. Her tote bag was already filled with two sweaters, a stunning floral dress, a dainty pink blouse, a corset, a choker for Arya, a pair of earrings, and a bracelet. He had a coat, a ring, and a sweater embroidered with kittens that she pestered him into buying for himself. 

Jaime peruses the necklaces laid out on the small table lazily while she examines a silver slider with a dragonfly pendant. 

“I used to do this with Cersei,” he says. “Shopping for designer or vintage pieces. When the bill we racked up reached an enormous sum, we’d charge it to Tywin’s account.” 

Sansa goes quiet, her retort dying on her tongue. 

“It was fun,” he continues with a small smile, “we would really find ways to spite that bastard.”

“Did he—did he not try to get you both in trouble for that,” Sansa stammers out as they walk to the next stall. She is a little relieved to see that he has not withdrawn into himself.

“He couldn’t,” Jaime says, eyes on pendants laid out. “We always went through secure channels, and a friend had our back.”

“Still doesn’t explain your taste in fashion,” Sansa says, checking out some pearl drop earrings. 

“I’d wander the markets during our downtime at jobs in Lys or Braavos. Sometimes Yi Ti or Asshai if we got that far,” Jaime answers, examining a small circular one. “You learn a lot and acquire a certain level of taste from befriending those merchants.”

Sansa snorts. He pays for something, and the merchant boxes it up, thanking him with a large smile. 

“That and I’ve always liked pretty things,” Jaime says with a smirk, shoving the box into her hand. 

“What,” she starts. 

“We’ve got only a few stalls left,” he says. “You might want to open that up first to avoid buying something similar, though I doubt you’ll find any.”

She huffs as she walks beside him, carefully inching the lid off the box. 

Her breath hitches when she sees what he picked out. The circular pendant was about an inch in length, silver and gold inlaid onto dark steel. A wolf howling under the vast canopy of a weirwood tree was chiseled onto it, leaves falling in the background. A reminder of home and family. 

“It's a damascene piece,” Jaime explains, his mouth curled into a half smile as he watches her trace the carving with her gloved hand. “Most of the designs for pieces like this are either incredibly intricate patterns or birds and flowers. I’ve never seen one like this.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa whispers, her gloved finger running over the pendant once more before she puts the lid back on and tucks the box securely into her tote bag.

“I can’t let you pay for this, besides, I’ve got—”

“Consider it a small gift,” he says, cutting her off. “You’ve helped me much more than you think you did.”

Sansa smiles at him gently, heart warming at his words. She reaches for his hand and squeezes tightly. 

“Come on, I think I see watches over there,” Sansa says, looping her arm through his. She found Arya a gorgeous choker and embroidered sweater early on. Jon’s present though had been eluding her.

They head over to the food stalls once Sansa finds a watch for Jon, buying some spicy dan dan noodles, freshly grilled beef short ribs, and raclette potatoes to share. Inside the giant tent set up as a dining area, Sansa saves an empty table near one of the televisions while Jaime grabs some hot drinks. The droning of the news reporter mixed with chattering from market goers could not distract her stomach. She was famished. So she pops one container open and moans at her first bite of potato smothered in cheese. 

Two cups of mulled wine and a bottle of water is set down by the food. She looks up to him with a guilty smile.

Jaime just motions for her to continue, chuckling at her lousy attempt to uphold any sort of etiquette. They eat in amiable silence, savoring the dishes of different cuisines. Sansa wished she could have this sort of food more often. There were a few restaurants and delis in Winter Town, but none ever matched up to the food at the annual market. 

She was halfway through her wine when the news report seizes her attention.

_ “...missing reports filed by the Tyrell Matriarch. The heiress to their empire, Margaery Tyrell has also given a statement on the turn of events.”  _

Sansa’s head snaps to the TV screen. Margaery’s face comes on. She looks worried but a little relieved at the same time.

_ “My godfather, Petyr Baelish, has been reported missing for almost a week now. He was supposed to be on his way to Braavos after the ceremony for the Tyrell Wind Farm in the North. Our last conversation was the night of the gala for the groundbreaking ceremony, with him reminding me to print out the follow up reports on the Braavos resorts project. If anyone has any information or has seen him, please relay it to us. We can offer a large sum for your immense help. Our representatives’ contact information has been given to every news station in Westeros. This is a difficult time for my family. We’re all very worried and we just hope he is safe. We would be grateful for any leads you can give us. Thank you.”  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got about 2 chapters left to wrap this up. Thank you for sticking with me! Comments are always appreciated!


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